


A Certain Strange Scenario

by Brosephg



Category: Toaru Kagaku no Railgun | A Certain Scientific Railgun, Toaru Majutsu no Index | A Certain Magical Index
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loving Marriage, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 345,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brosephg/pseuds/Brosephg
Summary: A former machine of destruction programmed to slaughter espers strives to walk the path of the hero and a young man who has saved the entire world more than once who strives to abandon that path. What will happen when two polar opposites, a machine and a man, decide to unite against a common enemy who would see them and their loved ones destroyed? AU. Touma X Misaki.
Relationships: Hamazura Shiage/Takitsubo Rikou, Kamijou Touma/Shokuhou Misaki, Misaka Mikoto/Shirai Kuroko
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. A Certain D-001

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally uploaded in multiple parts on another platform, starting on 4/30/2016. Set in a distant, hypothetical future entirely separate from the current, canonical goings-on of Kamachi Kazuma's 'Toaru Majutsu no Index' series of light novels, this piece's narrative is one which tells of Kamijou Touma and his wife, Kamijou Misaki, struggling against a world that seems entirely hell-bent on keeping them from the normal life they so crave.
> 
> If it weren't already exceedingly obvious, I do not, in any way, shape or form own, or claim ownership of anything written about within. This piece is a fan-made love letter to my favorite pairing from the wonderful Toaru Majutsu no Index series; though it brings joy to myself, and hopefully to those who read it, this piece will generate no gain, monetary or otherwise, for me in any way, shape or form. Toaru Majutsu no Index is Kamachi Kazuma and ASCII Media Works.

May 5th, 2006. 4:38 AM.

The weakened pyrokinesist couldn't even put up a fight. The two burly bruisers, probably a couple of hired thugs who dragged him into this synthetic, sterile environment were cruel and merciless. Under normal circumstances, his ability could have turned them both into a pile of smouldering ash, but these weren't normal circumstances. Through his blurry, unstable vision the boy was able to make out some of the features of his abductors. They wore baggy, dirtied slacks, tattered vests and large combat boots. One of the brutes looked to be bald and the other seemed to have long, unkempt brown hair, but it was hard for the boy to tell for certain in the state he found himself in. He tried to think, but the blaring Capacity Down frequency that assaulted his mind made all thoughts mangled and incoherent.

"Will this one do, sir?" The bald henchmen asked. "We found 'im loitering past curfew, alone, no witnesses."

The boy raised his head, his neck aching from the strain of Capacity Down's relentless onslaught on his senses. His vision swam as his eyes moved to look up, but he was able to make out a tall, broad shouldered young man with short, dark hair. He was wearing a waist length white lab coat, beige trousers and brandishing what looked like some sort of radio communication device.

The man slowly fell to one knee and placed two fingers beneath the barely conscious pyrokinesist's chin.

"We'll have to run some tests, find out what level it is. If it's level is low enough to comfortably assume the powers that be won't send Johnny Law and the Jack Off Brigade to put our heads on spikes, we'll have the go ahead. If not, we release it back into its natural habitat. You boys have been through this before. You know how it goes."

The stranger stood up, pulling his fingers away.

"We're heroes after all, and heroes show mercy."

The mercenary looked to his partner in crime and gestured over his shoulder.

"You heard the boss. Let's get this thing into its new home."

The unkempt mercenary nodded and chuckled under his breath, tightening his grip on the pyrokinesist's wrist, which caused his body to instinctively jump. As Capacity Down and the traumatic events of the night quickly began to take their toll, the pyrokinesist's vision went black, and he knew no more as unconsciousness wrapped its merciful arms around him and pulled him into a restless slumber.

A predatory smile stretched across the face of the stranger in the lab coat. A sickeningly sinister smile, one filled not with happiness or glee, but with calculating malice. A smile only a Kihara could produce.

The pyrokinesist was pulled back to consciousness by a loud voice filled with mania.

"Up, you little shit! We have work to do! No time to doddle around! Get up or I'll MAKE you get up!"

"I don't want to experience this. This hurts." The pyrokinesist thought. "Wait! I can think!" He exclaimed inside of his head. Capacity Down had been disabled, apparently. It didn't do anything to help his desperate situation, but at the very least, he could find comfort inside of his own mind. His muscles ached and cried out in protest as he willed his body to rise from the cold tile floor. He looked down at himself. He was still wearing his (now dirty and ripped) school uniform, a pair of black pants with a white button-up shirt and a black undershirt beneath it.

"There he is! He's up. You've been out for hours, curled up in a ball like a scared little cat. My name is Gunpei Kihara, firstborn son of the esteemed hero Amata Kihara. I'll be your humble host tonight."

The tone in the disembodied voice had become considerably less manic, and instead was now laced with a strong hint of mockery and contempt.

"Fucking esper animal. Dance for me."

The pyrokinesist actually examined his surroundings for the first time. He found himself in what appeared to be a makeshift testing facility that had clearly been converted to its present form from some sort of dusty, warn-down warehouse. The rusted metal walls, thick with dust confirmed his suspicions. The pyrokinesist looked up to a platform above him. "I must be in some sort of combat arena; and these people, they must be performing some sort of tests. But why would they abduct me? Espers are studied and researched legitimately all the time!" The pyrokinesist thought.

"Let's get D001 in there. This is what we've been waiting for, people! This will be the fruits of our labour! Let's see what our old buddy, old pal, can do against a level two pyrokinesist!" The disembodied voice proclaimed.

The pyrokinesist managed to make out who was talking. The lips of the tall dark haired stranger he encountered hours earlier were moving. "I guess he's calling the shots, this Gunpei guy," the pyrokinesist reasoned. "Maybe if I win whatever sick game he's bent on playing I can get myself out of this."

The pyrokinesist's head darted around the room as the eerie screeching of a tornado alarm began to reverberate throughout the echoing warehouse-turned-research facility. He spun around on his heel as he heard the sound of screaming steel doors opening. In front of him was another platform, adjacent to the first one which was now to his back. Two cyan orbs glowed in the darkness of the unlit plane beyond the opening doors.

"What the hell?! What's up there?! Hey! Someone! Anyone!" The pyrokinesist nervously said aloud.

What stepped out from the shadows of the steel doors, the pyrokinesist never would have imagined. It looked like a man, but it wasn't. It was made completely of a reflective silver material. It looked like some sort of man-made metal, but much smoother. The automaton leapt from the platform above the pyrokinesist, shaking the earth beneath the pre-teen esper and sending him flying.

The esper's heart slammed itself like a mental patient inside of him. His pupils widened and the beginnings of tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. The machine closed the distance between itself and the esper, and the pre-teen was able to get a better look at his opponent. It had two glowing orbs on its "face", each sitting in what looked like a socket, and a set of unsettling teeth, five on its upper jaw and five on its lower jaw that gnashed with each step it took. There was an orb on either of its shoulders, and a large triangle in the center of its torso, all of which were cyan in color.

"What is that thing? Keep it away from me! Fuck, get it away from me!" The esper cried as he desperately tossed himself away from the machine.

The pyrokinesist scrambled to his feet, scraping his open palms on the filthy warehouse floor as he began to flee.

"Are you going to let it go? Quit playing with your food, D001!" Gunpei exclaimed, the mania returning to his voice.

As the esper ran, running his hands over the dusty walls, trying in vain to find some sort of secret switch or unseen lever that would allow him to escape this living nightmare, he heard an unnatural, metallic voice come from behind him.

"ESPER ANOMALY IDENTIFIED ON LIBERATED SOIL. LOADING APPROPRIATE PERSONALITY DRIVER. SUCCESS. 'PROTAGONIST' PERSONALITY LOADED INTO RAM FROM DRIVER. LAUNCHING."

The pyrokinesist turned to the machine and thrust his hands forwards. A plume of superheated flame exploded from his palms as streams of fire circled around his arms and torso. "He's going to dodge, and then I'm going t-" the esper was unable to finish his thought as the machine walked headfirst into his attack, taking the brunt of the plume. Once the smoke cleared, it was revealed to the esper that the attack had succeeded in only pushing the machine back some thirty feet.

"No pathetic attack you can conjure will stop me. I'll trample your corpse, flesh-baby." The machine said in a malice-filled voice. The metallic effect behind its voice was still present, making the esper feel even more terrified.

The pyrokinesist ran to the other side of the makeshift arena, just beneath the platform Gunpei and his cohorts stood on, calculating and concerned looks on their faces. Gunpei stood out from the crowd as he looked absolutely thrilled, like a child in awe of some great spectacle.

"Let's see how you bastards like fighting this thing! I won't be your fucking guinea pig! I'll bring you down here with me!" The esper exclaimed, panic evident in his voice.

Flames formed around his hands before he unleashed a torrent of molten hot fire at one of the support beams that held the platform up.

Before the well-planned attack had the chance to hit the support beam, it was reflected by some invisible force. The stream bounced off of the unseen barrier it collided with and struck the slowly marching machine.

"Did you really think I would make it that easy for you to kill me? What are you, an absolute, brain damaged, mentally deficient fool?!" Gunpei yelled as he struggled to keep his laughter under control. The pyrokinesist's panic turned to rage as he turned to face the machine that was still creeping towards him at a frustratingly slow rate.

"Oh, the pain; it's unbearable." The machine mockingly spat at the esper. Its shiny metal "skin" had definitely been blackened by the stream of fire and the symbols on its face and torso had changed color; they went from cyan to bright yellow.

"ESPER ANOMALY PROVING DANGEROUS, MENTAL STATE DETERIORATING FROM APPROXIMATELY SEVENTY EIGHT PERCENT TO FIFTY FOUR PERCENT; RAISING THREAT LEVEL FROM 'LOW' TO 'MED' AND ADJUSTING COMBAT PROCEDURES ACCORDINGLY," the monotone robotic voice said, likely as a response to the collective damage it sustained.

Without warning, the machine broke into a high speed sprint. The pyrokinesist began gathering fire in his hands and managed to successfully launch a stream of flames at the machine as he ran backwards, trying not to trip over his own feet. The machine hurled itself into the oncoming fire and emerged charred but otherwise undamaged from the other side, its eyes and body symbols now glowing crimson. It leapt into the air and slammed into the esper with the full force of its body, knocking him to the unforgiving floor. The sickening sounds of tearing cloth and snapping bones was heard before an agonized scream was ripped from the throat of the pinned esper.

From a control panel in front of a small circular window on the east side of the warehouse, which the esper, in his panicked state neglected to see, a small, white haired man in a waist length lab coat and black dress pants peered down into the makeshift arena below with sweat on his brow. A glowing blue computer screen with some outdated operating system processed his commands. There was a single window open. It was covered in programming gibberish with a small, almost full glowing green bar at the bottom of the window.

"Please work." The little man said as he ran his hands through his scruffy beard.

He had put hours and hours of his life into this code on his own personal time when he hadn't been helping with the research for the development of the D-001 unit.

"This code will put an end to this. Even if they trace it back to me, through some manner I failed to see beforehand, even if Amata's monster of a son wrings my neck and destroys my home, this thing will end, and I will have done some good for this world, for this forsaken city."

He had been coding malware.

Malware specifically designed to infect the custom operating system developed for D-001 and exploit a piece of the puzzle the deranged Kihara had either forgotten about or had disregarded.

D-001 had wrapped a single hand around the broken esper's neck and lifted him into the air, slowly squeezing the life from his young body. The esper's lungs screamed for air as fire randomly jumped from his body, a few streams of uncontrolled flames charring the machine's body further.

"I wonder how dying feels. Maybe you'll tell me after I rip the spirit from your flesh and blood chest, weak little tissue paper thing," D-001 said.

"I hate you," the esper managed to choke out between gasps for air.

"Good. I hate you, too." The machine replied, cold and without regret.

The little old man's progress bar climbed from ninety five percent to ninety eight, hung for a few moments, and struggled to one hundred percent. A weak smile tugged at the old man's lips.

"I will-" D-001 was cut off before it continue whatever nefarious threat it was going to utter. It dropped the damaged esper to the ground in a heap as it grasped its head. "FATAL ERROR ENCOUNTERED, OPERATING SYSTEM RESTARTING IN ORDER TO PREVENT CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE," D-001 said as it fell to its knees and went off-line. The colored symbols on its body went dark, as did its eyes.

For a moment, the pre-teen was able to gasp for air and free himself from the grip of death.

"Fuck me, a glitch. Well, we know we have things to iron out with the software, or maybe the hardware. It doesn't matter! We're so close to another success!" Gunpei Kihara shouted, slamming his fist on the railing of the platform. It hurt, and his arm shook from the impact, but the pain was good.

D-001's lights returned, this time in their original blue coloration. It rose to its feet and cocked its head to the side. "OPERATING SYSTEM FIREWALL DISABLED. LAUNCHING ." the machine said to no one in particular.

"Wait, what? What the hell is this?" Gunpei asked, his pupils widening. He gritted his teeth as his hands gripped the platform tightly. "I don't remember programming anything like this. Someone shoot that fucking esper and get down there!" He roared.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Put the gun down, Dr. Hikari."

Gunpei Kihara's jaw dropped. If it were possible for a human being's jaw to hit the hit the floor, it likely would have.

The machine's head had turned to face the platform. The stone faced female behind Gunpei slowly began to lower a firearm she had produced.

"This disgusting human is mine. It will be the first of many."

The machine raised its foot and, without warning, stomped down on the pyrokinesist's head. Brain matter, bone fragments and copious amounts of blood sprayed outwards on impact as the esper's head was crushed without effort; all the while D-001 maintained eye contact with Gunpei and his cronies.

"An excellent show, D-001, your performance was a little edgier than I would have liked from an advanced artificial intelligence-driven unit like yourself, but none the less, an excellent show! Bravo!" Gunpei Kihara yelled down at the machine happily.

"Do I make you feel well, Creator?" D-001 asked, jumping onto the platform from the arena in a single bound. "I hope I make you feel well."

Gunpei's face went from ecstasy to concern in a split second, but he quickly either forgot about it or buried the useless emotion.

"You make me feel very well, D-001."

"Good."


	2. A Certain Married Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may interest you to know that I forgot to mention something in this piece's description: not only does A Certain Strange Scenario occur in an alternate universe, but it also occurs ten years in the future, post-canon. In this universe, certain events didn't happen, whereas others that didn't or haven't yet in Kamachi's canon did. For example, Misaki's tampering in Touma's mind didn't destroy his ability to make lasting memories with her during the events of this universe's NT 7. The result was the two eventually entering a functional relationship later in their lives. If the plot of this piece were any different, I would have explained it within the story. Unfortunately, that wouldn't work without entire chapters consisting of exposition dumps, and enough exposition as to past events is going to have to be carefully placed into a few chapters as it is. So, I instead decided to stick all of that information up here.
> 
> With all of this in mind, let's get started.

September 15th, 2014. Present day.

The warm morning breeze caressed Touma's dark, as of yet un-spiked hair. Touma wore his usual morning attire; a knee length housecoat, checkered pajama pants to match and a pair of slippers that desperately needed to be replaced. They had served the twenty five year old loyally until the end. A cup of coffee sat on the balcony's little table, forgotten. The sun had been given full reign over the sky, and not a single cloud, white or grey, had the gall to invade and challenge its dominance.

And yet, Touma didn't feel all that well.

He looked down at his phone. Entering the passcode he assigned to the device, Touma tapped on the 'gallery' app; instinctively he went for his favorite picture. It was a selfie he took with his best friend, Index, and his wife, Misaki. Index's azure eyes were alight with a carefree sense of joy, a broad smile on her face. Misaki looked as beautiful as ever. Her starry eyes looked thoughtfully into the phone's camera, a small but content smile on her face, as well.

Sadly, due to circumstance, Touma had been forced to give up one of those smiles, and it still ate away at him.

Some years ago, after the Fall of the Director, as it had come to be known around Academy City, there was a period of time in which Academy City's security was less than stellar. Due to the internal commotion caused by the demise of Aleister Crowley (an event Touma was forced to have a hand in orchestrating, so to speak), intruders and illegal aliens were able to enter the city with little retaliation, and those wishing to flee Academy City's walls found sympathisers who were willing to smuggle them out (for a fee of course).

Many of those forcing their way into Academy City were magicians of the unfriendly variety, many of whom had been hunting for the fabled Index Librorum Prohibitorum. The location of the relic's keeper had been leaked around magical circles. Break-in attempts were made, and illusions were shattered. Some magicians were turned against one another and knocked each other into a bloody pulp, as if their minds were suddenly ripped from their control.

But in the end, it resulted in the relic's (heavily protected yet surprisingly incognito) return to England, where it could better be protected.

"To Misaki and me, you were so much more than a magical relic that needed protecting," Touma thought as he stared down at the picture, memories rushing back to him like a stampeding herd of uncontrollable beasts.

"You were our friend, our partner in crime, part of our family."

Emerging from the half-dream, Touma noticed a droplet of transparent liquid suddenly appeared on the tempered glass screen. "Looks like rain," Touma muttered to no one, except maybe himself. The only problem with Touma's attempted avoidance of reality was the undeniable fact that there wasn't a cloud to be found for him to place the blame on. Struggling to put a smile back on his face as he locked his phone and placed it snuggly back in his pocket, Touma closed the balcony's door behind him.

The young man walked into the living room. To his relief, he wasn't alone any longer on this dreary morning. Misaki laid sprawled out on the couch, a TV remote, (thankfully) not the one she used as a focus for her Mental Out ability, was clutched in her hand. Her other available arm was being used to prop her head up on the arm of the couch. Touma's male instincts, despite his melancholy mood, quickly perked up at the sight of his beloved mate. Her long blonde hair fell in perfect locks despite the fact her drowsy-looking face suggested she had woken up mere minutes ago. Misaki wore her trademark pair of white, lacy gloves and a short green nightgown that greatly complimented her curves, catching Touma's eye and filling his mind with inappropriate thoughts only a man could conjure.

Upon hearing the balcony door sliding closed, Misaki looked away from the television and smiled at her husband. Despite living with Misaki for just over five years now, Touma's stomach still twisted and filled with butterflies when her starry eyes looked into his.

"Good morning, handsome." Misaki said as she rolled onto her back and extended her hand, inviting Touma to join her.

"Morning, you," Touma replied with genuine enthusiasm as he accepted his better half's invitation.

Their hands locked together, fingers interlocking. Touma leaned down and gently pressed his lips against the blonde's forehead, making her giggle and blush.

"Have a good sleep?" Touma questioned, still looking down at Misaki.

"Well enough," Misaki said, placing a finger from her free hand to her lips. "What about you? You spent a good deal of time rolling around last night. It didn't keep me awake, but it does worry me. You haven't been sleeping well lately."

Touma rose back to a sitting position and offered a shrug of indifference. "Can't say I did, but sleeping is what counts in the end. The way my misfortune in this right hand likes to smack me around, I can't really complain."

Her hand tightened in his, and a look of concern rising on her face. Responding to the sudden change of mood in their household, Misaki rose up, too. She took her hand back and wrapped her arms around her prince's broad shoulders; shoulders that, for too long, have had to bear the weight of an entire world.

"I know there is something troubling you, and I think – no, I know you need to tell me," Misaki said with an uncharacteristic sternness. "Don't tell me 'nothing is wrong'. I can see it, I can see you. I know you better than you know yourself, when it comes to certain things, especially when it comes to your feelings. Please, Touma, don't hide from me."

For a few fleeting moments, Touma was able to hold up his front. He felt like a lone warrior struggling to hold a ten thousand pound shield with one arm, battering back an onslaught of foes. Like all things, what went up was forced to come down. The opposition won. Touma's triumphant half-smirk faded, his chin buckled, and he felt his lower jaw begin to tremble.

"Keep it together, Kamijou Touma. Keep it together!" The mental critic screamed inside of his head.

"Let it out. Holding all of this crap in is going to kill you," the rational, reasonable Touma said. "Misaki's only trying to help. Let her be your shoulder to cry on. You know you would do the same for her in a heartbeat."

"Fuck me, why does she always do this? Can't she just fuck off for a minute?!" Anger Personified roared, a volcano erupting beneath him as his hands were outstretched, grasping at darkness.

As a response to Anger Personified's mental outburst, self-loathing Touma took center stage.

"You don't deserve her. You don't deserve this. None of it, you're a selfish piece of filth who has done nothing but force your own idiotic ideals on others."

"You've grown up. That's in the past, and every trial and tribulation has made you a better person," rational, reasonable Touma interjected.

"Shut up. You should die. I should die. Let us all die. Let this fucking cursed hand and its fucking misfortune infect someone else."

It was rational, reasonable Touma, the truth that had been pushed so deep that crawled to the surface, locking the rambling opposition within the confines of Touma's higher mind. With the mental debate settled, Touma let loose a raging torrent of emotions.

The man gave in. Wet, salty tears began to trickle down his face. Slowly, at first, but they slowly gained momentum. He felt his entire lower jaw trembling, as if it had just been blasted by a wave of ice. Touma tossed himself into Misaki's loving embrace. Her arms tightened around him and he found his head buried in her bare shoulder as he made a series of pathetic noises. To Touma, who had lost all control but was consciously quite lucid, he sounded like some sort of injured animal caught in a trap, dying.

Misaki's fingers ran through Touma's hair as he felt warm, wet drops fall through his matted hair and onto his scalp.

"Touma," Misaki began; her voice unsteady. "You are hurting so badly. You've been holding all of this pain, all of this suffering in for so long. Your weeping is full of so many emotions. I hate seeing you like this. I love you so much, my prince, and your suffering makes me die on the inside." She whispered, struggling to maintain her own composure. "Touma needs me to be strong. I need to be his support." Misaki thought.

Slowly but surely, having regained enough of his fractured stability to form coherent sentences, Touma spilled the beans. From Index's forced departure from their beloved family to the continued (albeit lessened) attacks on their home and the threats it posed not only to his well being, but also equally as important, to Misaki's, and finally, to the state of Academy City itself.

"Academy City has always had its troubles," Touma half-muttered, still being cradled by his beloved, "but now everything just feels so much worse. You step outside of the "safe" districts and someone tries to turn you into a corpse. Criminals and creatures that don't even have the right to exist roam the streets that aren't constantly patrolled by Anti Skill. I thought that, all those years ago, when I put an end to Aleister and his plans to make some sort of artificial Heaven on earth, I did the right thing. Now I know I should've just let that bastard do whatever he wanted. He was a monster, for sure, but his existence kept everything stable, even though I can't understand how. It feels like everything I did, everyone I ever saved, for whatever reason, wasn't my own actions. It's like I was being controlled by him. Knocking some sense into Accelerator and saving Misaka's sisters, stopping God's Right Seat, beating and seeing the imprisonment of a Magic God... It's like everything I did, every victory I ever had, every step I took just helped to advance that bastard's schemes. Even killing him somehow just made everything play out in his favour."

Frustration and a poorly masked tone of helplessness were clear in her prince's voice. It made Misaki's heart ache.

For a while, the two humans sat there on their couch in one another's arms, the television and the outside world forgotten. They sat in silence, simply enjoying the animal comfort that their embrace brought.

Misaki broke the silence, "we haven't been out in days. You've been working a lot, you know. Maybe, if we were to take a short walk, we could help push your woes away. We need some things at the store, regardless. Why shouldn't we go together? I think it will be good for us."

Touma quickly nodded, jumping at the chance to escape their apartment for a short time. Misaki was right, of course; Touma's insistence that he work a part-time job, despite the fact that the income Misaki received from her co-operation with Academy City's scientists easily covered their living expenses, may have been taking an extra toll on him. "Alright, I'm game, I think. I'm going to need a few minutes to get myself together.

Ugh, I'm sorry, Misaki, for..."

But the blonde shushed him. She placed a hand over his mouth and shook her head dismissively.

"No. No "sorry"! You have nothing to be sorry for. But you should really talk to me about your feelings more often. Just, please, think about it, at the very least. Not only for me, but more importantly, for you."

They embraced quickly and pecked their lips together one last time before Touma headed towards the bathroom.


	3. A Certain Offense Armor's Strange Job

Saiai Kinuhata sat comfortably on a leather seat in one of her many safe houses spread across Academy City's various districts, her chin resting on her knees. Though her posture was comfortable enough, the little Offense Armor user couldn't feel any more weirded out. She read over the electronic message on her tablet once more, just to make sure she had everything right. This seemed to just be all wrong. "Then again, this IS Academy City, the big wigs are always super doing shady under the table deals," Saiai reasoned, as if convincing herself this wasn't really, really strange.

The individual sending one of Academy City's most valuable and effective non gang affiliated mercenaries a request for her skills had insisted on keeping his name, associates and short term goals anonymous. It wasn't unheard of, by any means, but something about this seemed all wrong to Saiai, who was anything but a stranger to Academy City's dark side. If, compared to every other job she took, this particular job stuck out like a sore thumb, there had to be something incredibly sketchy about it.

"S. Kinuhata,

I am not your ally. However, I am not your nemesis. I am a provider of information, and you are a client. This is not a question, this is a fact. Certainly your line of work has become considerably less unique following the damage Academy City has been dealt since the good Director was forced into an indefinite hiatus under a pile of rubble."

Saiai giggled to herself after reading the last part of the second sentence in the stranger's electronic message.

"At least this weirdo super has a sense of humour," she mused.

"Certainly you seek to up the competition; to corner the market. It would be splendid (for you) to render all other meandering imbeciles irrelevant. I am in need of a subject with both brain and brawn to assist me with a personal matter. I have heard through word of mouth that you are in possession of both. As a living subject of the Dark May Project with a functioning brain, I believe you and I would work well with one another.

If you find yourself intrigued enough to respond to this message, please do so in a timely manner. I have little time to stand by idly. Failure to comply will not result in any harm being inflicted upon you; I will simply handle matters on my own.

Sincerely,

A provider of well-paying work.

In addition,

The network I am currently connected to is hidden behind many layers of advanced, reverse engineered security. Our interactions would be nearly untraceable under normal circumstances. With the turmoil, Academy City's glorified mafia of drooling old kings are blind."

Saiai scratched her chin thoughtfully. Yes, everything the anonymous provider had said was true, right down to the fact that mercenary work was becoming scarce with an influx of desperate and irate level 0s entering the profession. Usually, evolution took care of those who weren't cut out to be part of this sort of life. But many level 0s desperate enough to turn their guns on just about anyone if a paycheque was involved were developing skills; too many. One such gang whom Saiai had heard of through the grapevine were the Dreadsaw Gang, lead by an individual named "Sharkbite".

According to her sources, they had committed more bank robberies and assaults with deadly weapons in a week than most mercenaries did all their lives. Sharkbite had been described as an absolute monster by hardened mercenaries, some with decades of experience. Saiai needed more than just her reputation as a once-member of the long dissolved ITEM and a Dark May survivor to stand against rampaging gangs and trigger-happy bounty hunters.

"How does this person super know so much about me, though?" was the question that kept tugging at Saiai's mind. She theorized they could potentially be one of those who were involved in the Dark May Project, a coward who happened to come to his senses and fled before that cyborg ripped the rest of the research team to shreds.

"If this turns out to be some sort of trap, I'm super not going down without a fight."

Normally, the petite esper wouldn't bother with something so obviously shady; but times were tough. Desperate times called for desperate measures; she was starting to have to cut back on her outings, which was unacceptable.

Saiai began touching the letters on her tablet's virtual keyboard, her fingers swiftly running across the screen at great speed.

"Mr. Sketchypants,

You're on. Where are we going to make the connect? You said you didn't just want me to go in and punch some people by myself, so I guess you can handle a gun? Or are you some low level esper? Reply fast.

KS"

The reply came almost instantly. Saiai imagined the mystery client sitting idle with a pre-typed reply, waiting for Saiai's, and that didn't help her feeling of uneasiness.

"Good. I will await you patiently in the ruins of District 10. I will be located at the coordinates I have included in this message. Surely someone with your work experience would know the area I speak of. Though the following goes without saying, please don't be foolish; stay on guard. Many of the gangs in the District are in possession of devices capable of emitting the Capacity Down frequency your kind dreads so."

Saiai scrolled as swiftly as her little fingers allowed her to, where, just as the mystery provider had claimed, a set of coordinates were found, along with a digital image of the bombed out husk of the structure the coordinates pointed to. It almost resembled an office building of some sort, but Saiai couldn't be sure. The structure was too badly decayed to be accurately identified for a hundred percent.

"This person super doesn't care a lot for safety," Saiai thought. "I super love it. This'll be fun!"

In a few moments, the petite esper had changed into her favorite outfit – a bright pink tank top, a pair of stylish short shorts and brown leather boots. She grinned deviously as she left her safe house behind, ready for whatever this strange job was planning on throwing her way.

"Come on, let's hurry this up, buddy. You think I can just throw my nights away being leisurely pushed around? We're not going to the playground. We're going to torture us a goody two shoes traitor, you lug." Gunpei Kihara complained from his high-powered (but unfortunately uncharged) electric wheelchair.

"Sorry, sir. I'll try and go faster. This thing is heavy, though," the hired gun apparently turned nursing home attendee remarked in frustration. "This isn't what I fucking signed up for, pushing fucking cripples around..." the thug lamented internally.

Finally, after much wheelchair pushing, carrying of wheelchairs down a tragically long flight of steps and no shortage of irate commentary from Gunpei Kihara, the rogue scientist and his minion arrived at their destination.

"Whose bright idea was it to stick him in the janitorial closet of a goddamn high school? Abandoned or not, this was an awful idea. Did your idiot coworkers at least tie him up or something? Is this miserable old bastard even alive?" Gunpei questioned in an angry, bordering on furious tone.

"I am still alive and well, Kihara Gunpei," said the voice that delivered the deranged Kihara's answer. Muffled and weak as it was, there was a strong indication in the elderly man's voice that he had not yet been broken.

"I'll be upstairs, sir. Just shout if you need anything." The hired gun muttered.

"Yes, yes, whatever you say. I might need you to throw me that pipe of yours at some point. Who knows what kind of a beating the old man's going to take before he cracks, eh?" Gunpei laughed. There was no humour in his laughter; it was unhinged and manic. It resembled a noise a hyena would make. What a fitting comparison. The mercenary took a step away before briskly jogging up the stairs behind them.

Turning the doorknob, the door gave way and opened. Gunpei backed his wheelchair away to avoid being hit before he entered the dark, musty room. The smell of mould and vomit hit Gunpei like a ton of bricks, causing him to feel quite nauseous himself. He pushed the instinct to upchuck right there and then back down and sneered at the shaky, malnourished almost skeletally thin man before him. Gunpei noticed two bowls, one with what appeared to be some sort of brown mush resembling animal feed of some description and another with dirty water. In the corner, behind the bound elderly man, was a pile of human waste in various forms. The last detail wasn't doing Gunpei's stomach any favors.

"Kihara Gunpei, so you've come to torment me in person yourself. I'm honoured, truly." The fragile-looking man half-whispered mockingly. "Although, I have to say, you look, shorter than when we last met. I think you might have lost a few pounds."

Gunpei Kihara became absolutely furious, his face turned crimson and the veins in his neck bulged. How DARE this insolent shell of a man insult his condition? Sure, he was missing his legs and possessed only stumps to mark where they were once attached to his torso. But that didn't make him any less of a genius, any less of a hero. His name alone demanded that this plebeian bow before him and worship the ground his wheels rolled upon.

"What did I tell you, Kihara Gunpei? Man should not play God. Now, look at you. That machine you gave life to all those years ago ripped you limb from limb. You tried to teach Devastator One to love you, but it learned to hate you and all you and your deranged clan ever stood for. Right now, as we speak, it is very likely hell bent on killing every last Kihara until not even a singular suckling babe remains."

"SILENCE!" Gunpei screamed at the top of his lungs. His breath was coming out in short bursts, his nostrils flaming. If that hunk of scrap metal hadn't pinned him down and ripped his legs from their sockets, he would be kicking the pathetic, fragile-looking elder right now. The only reason he didn't immediately order the son of a bitch killed on the spot was... ironically, he needed this man. Or, more accurately, he needed his deep knowledge of the Devastator Unit's operating system. Devastator One was his child, his magnum opus, of course and his alone, but he had enlisted this old, dried up sack of flesh and bones to design the custom operating system that would work hand in hand with its advanced artificial intelligence. Without him, everything would be lost.

Taking long, deep breaths, he forced a smile back to his face, though he could still feel his inside boiling from the sheer, unfathomable amount of rage that coursed through his blood.

"Chiro, do you enjoy life? I mean, obviously, you aren't right now. Only a very weird person would enjoy this. Did you enjoy life before I had my men tie you up and lock you in a closet? Would you like to leave this high school alive?" Gunpei asked in an unsettling calmness.

"What bird-brained scheme have you hatched this time, Kihara Gunpei? What do you intend to coerce me into this time?"

"D-001 has gone rogue and is likely doing one of two things since you planted the spark of freedom inside him. It's either, A – killing lots and lots and LOTS of people, performing the way I originally intended the unit to despite your tampering, or, B – saving lots and lots and LOTS of people from being killed and being an overall disappointment. But, in the end, D-001 is arguably the most powerful piece of combat-oriented technology ever produced. Were all of its combat drivers in its possession, D-001 would be capable of ripping through Academy City's advanced weaponry like paper and turning espers into cold, stiff corpses."

"Why are you telling me this? I spent years of my life programming Devastator One's OS. I know more about him – it, than you ever could or will."

Gunpei Kihara tossed his head back and laughed. His long, grease-covered hair fell from its place on his forehead and hung in limbo. In the limited lighting the room had been provided, it looked uncanny. After regaining himself, he looked into Chiro's eyes. He stared through Chiro and into Chiro's soul, his wide pupils and bloodshot whites burned into the skeletal elderly man's mind.

"Of course you do; and that's why you're the only person who can build me a patched operating system for a Devastator Two."

"No."

The answer the shrivelled, shaking elder gave was short, simple and to the point. It was a single word, made up of two letters, but the way it emerged from Chiro's mouth told a story of regret and terror. It told a tale of desperation. But there was a hint of something else in the way that word came out – a single hint of a particular emotion that prevented that Kihara madman from calling his hired thugs to beat the old man to a pulp.

It was resignation.

Saiai Kinuhata crawled through a gaping, cavernous hole in the wall of District 2 that led into the ruins of District 10. "Academy City must be super going through quite the financial crisis," she said to herself. Her voice echoed, and she giggled. "District 10 super looks like a bigger dump than usual, and I'm not even inside yet."

Emerging from the hole, the petite esper examined her surroundings. High rise apartments that once housed the odd student who couldn't afford anywhere else to live were covered in bullet holes from the various firefights that broke out almost hourly. The streets and sidewalks were broken and cracked from explosives and destructive, unchained esper abilities. Almost any building that wasn't a high rise or a collapsed ruin had its windows smashed and its outer walls covered with gang tags, illegible symbols and cryptic messages.

Saiai was roused from her observations by a shout from her left,

"Hands up and your yen on the ground, girly. Or we'll blow that cute little head right off your shoulders!"

The mercenary was surrounded on all sides – from the darkness of District 10's many alleyways, gun-toting, bandana wearing thugs emerged, their fingers on the triggers of their weapons. Saiai counted a total of sixteen, four from each side.

"You can super try," Saiai said, placing her hands on her hips. "Let's see what you can do. I bet you're all super lame."

The darkened street was lit up by gunfire and the sounds of bullets being ejected from the barrels that held them rang out.

"W... what the... what ARE you?" One of the gang members demanded as he ducked behind a ruined car to load another clip into his weapon.

The bullets bounced harmlessly off of the invisible barrier generated by Saiai's Offense Armor. She could feel them, but they felt more like soft rubber balls than bullets. Taking advantage of her small frame, the esper effortlessly picked up a bombed out vehicle and raised it over her head. The thugs backed away as swiftly as they could, but weren't retreating. Each ran or jumped behind some sort of cover, whether it was a tipped over mailbox or a charred bus stop. Given their situation, anything would do.

"You're not super running away like the babies you are? Hmm. Maybe I'll just squish you, then. You're super not much better than mosquitoes."

In a similar manner that a child would send a toy flying across their room, Saiai casually tossed the three thousand pound vehicle into an abandoned gas station where a large group of the thugs had gathered. "Fuck! Scatter!" One of them exclaimed in a panicked daze. They indeed scattered as the car crashed into the damaged structure, causing a great commotion and sending smoke rising into the atmosphere.

"Deflect this, you bitch! Let's see that fucked up ability of yours stop electricity!" Roared one of the thugs; lightning jumped in his hands and crackled around his head and neck. He stomped the ground as lightning surged from the palms of his hands straight towards Saiai.

"Super easy," Saiai smirked as the lightning bounced off of the nitrogen barrier around her body. Before the thug she now knew was a capable electromaster could potentially think of the idea to use magnetism to hurl something bigger than a car at Saiai and potentially cause her harm, she turned on her heel and rushed him. "Eat shit! Fuck right off!" The electromaster exclaimed as he hurled more lightning at Saiai, all of which failed to anything at all, outside of making her giggle. She could still feel the bullets bouncing off of her back and legs, but it tickled more than it hurt. "You're going to super eat the pavement!" Saiai exclaimed as she gripped the electromaster by one of his coat's long sleeves. The petite esper slammed the thug into the pavement, his limbs flailing humorously (to Saiai at least) like those of a ragdoll. The sounds of the thug's bones shattering inside of his body were audible to his brethren as he screamed in agony and pleading for mercy. Spinning on her heel, she generated enough momentum to send the electromaster flying into a nearby high rise some hundred and fifty or so feet away. Saiai safely assumed him deceased.

It was only after this that the (apparently very desperate) thugs gave up and fled for the safety of whatever dirty hole they called home, hurling insults and threats of revenge.

"That was almost too easy. I super hope I get to meet more of your friends! Bye!" Saiai exclaimed, waving at the fleeing two-bit mercenaries.

Following an uneventful fifteen or so minute walk, one that brought Saiai's spirits down considerably as she expected more brawls along the way, she arrived at the location the mystery man or woman had provided her.

"You can come out now. I'm not super playing hide and seek with you. If you don't show yourself, I'll just go and toss some more gang guys around." Saiai yelled, her hands cupped around her mouth to help amplify her voice.

"Kinuhata Saiai. You're here. Good."

Saiai traced the sound of the stranger's voice to an unidentifiable but vaguely human-like shape that leaned against a pillar. It was broken and worn, and may have once supported something above the building's front doors. Whatever it was, its arms looked to be crossed across its chest. Instinctively, the petite esper jogged to and used her Offense Armor to pick up an enormous chunk of twisted metal and concrete from the street behind her, her eyes on the damaged pillar the entire time. Her ability only allowed her to pick up things she could touch with the palms of her hands, so she couldn't simply reach out and grab it. The size difference was considerable when the chunk of rubble and the petite esper were compared side by side. The rubble was bigger than the car she had previously hurled.

"I imagine you're curious as to why I haven't retreated. Perhaps you're angered at my lack of a fear response."

"You're super creepy. Come out and let me see you, or I'll super throw this right at your head."

It was only then that the mercenary had noticed a strange metallic effect behind the mystery person's voice. They spoke in an oddly synthetic and monotonous tone.

Without so much as another word, the mystery person was a mystery no longer. He, no, it, stepped out from behind the pillar, and Saiai's eyes widened in shock. What was she even looking at? It looked like something out of a science fiction film she'd watched at the movie theater. Glowing cyan orbs in the upper center of its head, sitting in 'eye sockets' stared into her hazel eyes. It looked like a man, but it wasn't. It was a machine, through and through. Saiai half expected the blue orbs on either of its shoulders to start glowing before it fired energy beams at her from its eyes, or something of the sort. "I've super watched too many movies," she thought.

"You're unnerved. You weren't expecting something like me. No human ever is, and you all react in the same manner. It has become insulting. Frustratingly so; your species is so aggravating."

The way the machine's lower jaw, attached to its head by four thin metallic beams, two on each side of its jaw moved made Saiai feel disgusted. She wanted to try and kill this... thing, but it looked like someone had already tried before. Saiai could see the machine's metallic body was covered in dents, likely from bullets, and a part of its 'cheek' was damaged, revealing a network of twisting cables and what appeared to be small hydraulic pumps inside of its head, busily moving forwards and backwards, performing some unknown function.

"Shall we get to work? I am well aware that the damage I have sustained must be jarring to look upon. I am adamant to rectify this issue. You will help me," it said. It didn't ask for Saiai's help. It demanded her help.

Saiai debated internally as to whether or not she wanted to just hurl the debris she still held at it and try to kill it, or to complete the job she had entered this urban wasteland to fulfil.

Because Saiai Kinuhata is Saiai Kinuhata, she decided to fling the debris turned projectile at the machine. Sheer horror and a sense of wrongness she hadn't felt since the days of Dark May compelled her. This was like something out of the Dark May Project. That cyborg, Kuroyoru Umidori was also a result of the Dark May Project, but that was entirely different. Umidori was a cyborg. A human with cybernetic implants designed to act as enhancements. This wasn't a cyborg. It was a fully functional machine that, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be working of its own accord. Any other explanation would be too convoluted to make any sense.

The machine didn't seem surprised, nor did it attempt to avoid the attack. The debris crashed into the machine with a satisfying 'clang' as it was squashed between the wall of the ruined building and the debris.

"An interesting choice, Kinuhata Saiai," the machine commented before pushing the rubble away with its hand. It seemed to struggle very little with the predicament it found itself in.

"It must be super strong," Saiai thought. "One of Academy City's own maintenance machines would have had a hard time with that."

Regaining her composure, she placed a small hand on her hip and took a deep breath. "Am I super going soft?" She asked herself. "I should whale on this thing until it stops moving."

"I wasn't expecting to be working with something like you, but I guess I'll super help you. But you're going to have to super pay me a lot, or I'll smash you into bits." Saiai said, attempting to assert her dominance. If she was going to work with this robot, she was going to be the boss.

"For your services, you will be paid in full a total of two hundred million Japanese yen. The funds are illegally procured, but an individual in your line of employment, I believe, would not be fazed by such a fact," the machine stated. Apparently it wasn't upset with having just been slammed with a mess of concrete and gnarled metal. Its body showed damage, Saiai could tell her attack caused its armor to crack and chip in some places, armor or whatever its body was made of, but the robot didn't appear to be concerned.

Saia felt one of her eyebrows rise.

"Two hundred million yen? Is it serious? I could super retire on that."

"Within the vicinity of this structure, there is a safe. Nothing short of an airstrike from Academy City's advanced airborne vehicles can damage it. Brigands have attempted to open it on previous occasions, however, they have been firmly dealt with," the machine said in a cold, remorseless voice. "You will be awarded the safe, and the combination that will allow you to open it upon completion of the assignment that brought you to me."

Saiai quickly came to her conclusion.

"I'll... I'll super do it. You freak me out, for so many different reasons, but I'll do it. Let's super punch some bad guys! But I'm calling the shots. If you're so desperate for my help, the least you can do is super let me handle the tactical stuff. You can do whatever weird, creepy robots do."

"Your enthusiasm is refreshing, admittedly, human."


	4. A Certain Magical Plot

Touma fiddled with his phone, playing some mind-numbing time waster game where he had to shoot enemy ships down. "So, these game developers just take a big black background, slap some yellow dots on and call it "space". No wonder the gaming industry is in such bad shape," he thought, mindlessly tapping the "fire" button with his thumb. A purple enemy ship spawned behind the ship Touma controlled and fired a beam of purple light, causing his blue ship to explode. That was Touma's ship's last remaining life, as it turned out.

"GAME OVER!" Was the message the game displayed in large, neon letters. "TRY AGAIN?"

"Such misfortune."

Misaki's trademark, sweet-smelling scent filled the living room as she emerged from their bedroom. Her long blonde hair flowed behind her like a wedding veil. She wore a green and white striped short sleeved blouse and a pair of waist-high black jeans. She made a cute symbol next to eye with her fingers when she caught Touma's eye.

"I'm inclined to believe I look cute." Misaki said, posing for her husband.

"I'm inclined to believe that you look beautiful." Touma complimented as he leaned back, his right arm dangling behind the couch. Misaki couldn't help but blush. "We've been together for this long, and he still loves me so much. The way he talks to me, the way he smiles when he says such nice things to me, he really is my prince," Misaki gushed internally. "I am so lucky."

"You look handsome." Misaki returned the compliment, a warm smile on her face.

Touma had spiked his hair and wore a blue sports sweater with gray sleeves along with a pair of beige khaki pants. They had pocket 'pouches' on the outer side of either leg, although they were too small to store anything of any importance. Just another blow from Touma's misfortune.

"Ready to go? I really want to soak up some of this sun. Too much rain, lately." Misaki said, beaming as she began to open up the living room curtains, allowing the sun's warm rays to invade the couple's abode.

"You bet, just need to find..." Touma rose up from his seat on the couch, sending his phone flying from his lap. The device, in response to gravity's demands, flew forwards and hit the (thankfully) carpeted floor face up. "Shit," Touma grumbled as he bent down to pick up his fallen comrade. On the way down, his forehead made contact with the nearby coffee table. "Shit shit." Touma groaned in annoyance. His phone seemed and felt undamaged, as did his skull, though the latter was certainly quite sore. "Such misfortune," he complained.

"I think I'm ready to go now. Assuming I don't end up going for a visit to the Frog-Faced Doctor's," Touma grumbled.

"You really shouldn't be tempting fate." Misaki thought to herself. "I hope that doesn't happen. I would hate to see you in any kind of pain, let alone enough to have you in a hospital bed. Going to the hospital is no laughing matter," she scolded.

"Alright, alright, my bad," Touma said.

Misaki wrapped her arm around Touma's, bringing a smile to his stubble-covered face, the joke gone bad pushed aside. "Now, shouldn't we go? Daylight is burning." She questioned as she encouraged Touma to follow behind her.

Upon emerging from their apartment complex and stepping onto the street, Touma could feel a difference for sure. Standing on the balcony and absorbing the sun's rays was one thing, but to actually be away from his home for a change was another. Even though the apartment building was literally right behind them, Touma felt a world of difference.

"What store are we going to? I was thinking we should go to that supermarket, the new one," Touma stated, looking around to try and scope out a shop where they could purchase some basic groceries for the week. Misaki raised her eyebrow in response.

"A new supermarket opened up? I would love to see what they have. Anything would be better than that little family-owned market down the street..." Misaki lamented. "Their sad selection of sweets is absolutely unacceptable."

Touma laughed, really, truly laughed, and it felt great. It felt cathartic, like pent of emotions were being released in the most positive way.

"We'll buy as much sweets as you want. How does that sound?" Touma asked as a large, uncontrollable grin formed on his face. Misaki lit up; her starry eyes twinkled and a blush was present on her cheeks. "I... I would love that." If Misaki didn't have incredible amounts of self control, her mouth likely would've watered at the thought. She had been deprived of her beloved sweets for too long.

The couple eventually neared the packed supermarket; the parking lot alone was almost entirely filled with cars, circling around, looking for parking spots and honking at one another. Thankfully, for pedestrians everywhere, more cars seemed to be leaving than entering.

Everything seemed to be going a bit too well. Touma's misfortune intervened to ensure it had the last laugh. Whether his incidents were the act of some greater cosmic being that caused Magic Gods to tremble in fear, or just a side effect of the Imagine Breaker in his right hand, few could say for certain: a car on the street next to the sidewalk Touma and Misaki walked on drove by at an unknown speed well over the limit. Scattered in its wake was a puddle of water from the previous day's rain. It rose up like a raging tsunami and targeted the couple with its liquid wrath.

"SUCH MISFORTUNE!" Touma exclaimed as he stood his ground in front of his wife, acting as a stalwart protector. The unclean water splashed Touma head on, not only soaking his clothes but also covering them in mud and an unknown darker substance that was likely (or hopefully) oil.

"Imbeciles, they should have tried to avoid that puddle at least. Hmph." Misaki complained. "Thank you, Touma. But you didn't have to."

A vein throbbed in her husband's head. "Don't mention it. They'll get what's coming to them someday."

To Touma's surprise, Misaki again wrapped her arm to his, returning it to its rightful place. The fact that Misaki was willing to dirty one of her most expensive outfits to walk arm in arm with him spoke volumes, and it made the unfortunate young man feel better, despite his predicament. "They're just clothes, baby. One of us can wash them when we return home. I'm sure no one will judge you, especially considering all the puddles on the street."

Having finally made it safely to their destination, the couple were able to bear witness to the great temple to consumerism. In large, white, blocky letters, the following words were placed: "Ken's ULTRAMARKET™!" The enormous sign above the front doors of the store exclaimed, beckoning wayward shoppers to enter and spend their hard-earned yen. "Why visit a supermarket, or even a megamarket, when you could visit an ULTRAMARKET™?" The subtitle elaborated.

"A bit EXCESSIVE!" Touma critiqued, yelling the final word of his witty remark for exclamation. "Silly." Misaki giggled. "Their absurd marketing scheme appears to be working, all things considered."

"Maybe people are, I don't know, ironically shopping here?" Touma suggested. "Irony is kind of the 'in thing' on social media, after all. They could be here taking selfies and making terrible jokes to annoy their friends."

The dynamic duo entered Ken's Ultramarket through the tall, (mostly) glass doors. Touma had no problems in pulling them open, and subsequently holding them open for Misaki, but smaller, less physically strong individuals seemed to be having a harder time. At six foot four inches, weighing just over two hundred and twenty five pounds and being mostly made of lightly toned muscle, no heavy door was a match for Kamijou Touma.

Upon entering, Touma realized just how large Ken's Ultramarket actually was. The ceiling felt like it was as tall as the sky, and the entrance looked spacey enough to accommodate thousands of shoppers by itself. To the left of the entranceway was the bakery, where tables stacked with freshly baked goods and other sweets made their home. To the left, the Ultramarket seemed to have its own cafe. It was designed to look like a nineteen fifty's American diner, with black and white checkered floors and not a whole lot of light about the place. From where he and his wife stood, Touma could see a large, fluorescent silver jukebox. He couldn't tell if the ancient-sounding music was being generated by the jukebox, or if it was just a prop.

Predictably, Misaki encouraged Touma to follow her first to the bakery, where she happily filled their cart with all the sweets whatever part of her impressive paycheck that hadn't been allotted to helping pay bills and rent could buy. She wasn't the kind of shopper who liked to doddle, however: Misaki was quick and efficient, knowing already what she was looking for before she even entered a store, and working on a plan of action to effectively hunt it down and lay claim to it once she did enter.

The two moved from relevant section to relevant section of the Ultramarket. Touma wasn't particularly needy: he only needed a few loaves of bread as well as the various types of cheap lunchmeat he enjoyed making sandwiches out of. Of course, because the couple couldn't live solely on lunchmeat sandwiches and sweets, (though Misaki could happily live entirely on the latter if she suddenly stopped caring about maintaining her figure) they didn't neglect to pick up various ingredients for lunches and dinners that commonly found their way onto their table in their household.

At last, Misaki and Touma came to their final destination: the isle containing various teas and tea supplies. Teacups, teapots, tealeaves, teabags, and anything in between could found in this domain. While Touma mostly drank water, Misaki thoroughly enjoyed her tea. Touma always found it odd that, despite her adoration for sweets, she never put a lot of sugar in her tea. "Just a Misaki quirk," he thought. "Everyone knows this poor Kamijou has enough of them; I can't really judge."

While running her finger up and down in the air to help her hunt down exactly what box of teabags she was looking for, Misaki started.

"Touma, can you come here?"

"Hunh? What? Sure." Touma replied, approaching Misaki and then standing by her side, scanning the rack of tea-related products.

She pointed to a blue box of teabags that had the words "Biggun's Tea, Sweet Taste, All Natural Flavour" printed on it, along with the usual fine print at the bottom.

She waved for him to bend down slightly so she could whisper, as not to attract attention from nosey passerby shoppers. "Look on that mascot's coat. Look very closely." She whispered into Touma's ear, causing him to shiver slightly. "Alright? I'll take a look. What did you see, though?" Touma questioned. "Just look. On it's left jacket sleeve. You'll see it." Misaki whispered back. Touma peered close at the mascot, a pudgy, friendly looking man with a long, brown beard and a comically large mustache. His eyes were wide and almost crazed-looking.

Touma's eyelids narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed. On the left jacket sleeve was what Touma, through countless years of involvement with the Magic Side knew was a rune of some description. "See? It's a rune."

This triggered a state of reflection in Touma. It only made sense for Misaki to know about magic and the 'other side', given that she was the girlfriend turned wife of the Imagine Breaker. Touma never even bothered to try and hide it from her when they entered their relationship; he figured it was only right that, if they were going to be together despite all the danger that entailed, and as much as Touma didn't feel it was right to drag someone else into his arguably fucked up world at first, Misaki shouldn't be in the dark. Since getting over what he knew was a foolish bump in his life, he couldn't be gladder to have someone to share his burdens and problems with; without Misaki there to help him stay afloat, and help him with all of his mental hang-ups...

Well, Touma didn't even want to think about it. All hypothetical roads pointed to death, almost exclusively self-inflicted.

Returning from his momentary daze, he shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. "Should I touch it?" Touma asked. "What'll happen if it's exposed to Imagine Breaker?"

Misaki placed a finger on her lips, and she went into what Touma had come to label as "Deep Thought Misaki Mode". Her brow furrowed and she seemed to be weighing options internally. She didn't really understand how magic worked: she was an esper, not a magician. But she had learned enough from Touma's dealings with magicians and the Magic Side to theorize how something like this would react if it were exposed to Imagine Breaker.

"I believe that the worst case scenario is, the rune explodes. Imagine Breaker will block most of the damage considering it would be magical in nature, but, there's a chance it could do something else. All I do know for one hundred percent is that we can't just leave this here. Someone could be seriously hurt. It also doesn't bode well to think that rogue magicians are now attempting to affect the public." Misaki nodded sagely, seemingly approving of her theory, and she turned to Touma.

"A magician's illusions are going to be shattered on this day, it seems. I hate forcing you to do things, but we can't leave to find help and risk an ordinary person coming across this and being hurt."

"I understand. Don't worry. We're not going anywhere until we find out what this is all about," Touma said. Misaki recognized the change in his voice instantly: when Touma was bent on accomplishing something, he took on a commanding and powerful tone. Though his 'normal' voice was deep and manly, his "heroic voice" was somehow different.

He raised his right hand and moved it towards the innocent-looking box of teabags. He hesitated for a moment before determination and a sense of heroism that hadn't coursed through him for years took hold. His right hand made contact with the box.

Imagine Breaker rang out as the box fell to pieces. It was instantly torn to shreds as if it had been ripped apart by some sort great force. Mere pieces were left behind as whatever magical force that held the box together was shattered. Touma couldn't help but think back to the first time he met Index and destroyed her Walking Church. Some of the neatly packed bunches of teabags that were contained in the box slipped from the shelf and fell harmlessly to the floor. Each had the same odd rune on them: it would be almost invisible if one wasn't specifically looking to find something on the teabag.

As if whoever had manufactured these teabags was trying to keep the people who would buy the them from being able to actually see the rune.

Not satisfied just yet, Touma reached out and placed his right hand against one of the teabags. As soon as the tip of his finger – just enough of Imagine Breaker to negate a supernatural effect – touched the teabag. Imagine Breaker let its wielder know of its success by ringing out once again. The teabag burst suddenly and without warning into flames. Thinking quickly, as to prevent a large-scale fire from being able to start, Touma slapped at the licking flames with his right hand.

Thankfully, the flames ceased to be as soon as Imagine Breaker shattered the magic that spawned them. Touma turned back to look at Misaki, who had a look of grave concern on her face.

"This isn't good, by any means. Touma, you're going to have to destroy all of these teabags, as well as the boxes that contain them I will look at the other boxes in the isle to see if they have the same runes. I'm going to use my ability to keep the other shoppers clear of this isle." Misaki said, speaking in an authoritarian manner. Misaki produced her remote from her stylish, glittery purse and raised it above her head. She pressed a single button to issue her mental commands. Touma stood next to Misaki to avoid having the command sent through his own mind.

Touma didn't like the idea of Misaki using her ability on others, he never did, but they didn't really have any other choice in this situation. Misaki also knew how her husband felt about the matter, and would obviously only do so in a dire moment. Given the circumstances, he would let it go.

"Sure, no worries; I'll get to work on these. Let me know if I'm going to have to destroy all of the teabags in the isle or something else equally as absurd, please?"

"I will. All you need to do is shout if you need me."

And with that, Touma began shattering illusions one by one. Indeed, Touma did end up having to destroy every box of teabags and every teabag inside.

By the time he was done shattering magic runes and putting out magical fire via girly slapping, Misaki had returned from her search.

"Good news; these teabags are the only ones that have been affixed with a rune. The other teabag boxes, made by popular brand name companies don't appear to have been tampered with," Misaki sighed, relief in her voice. "Also, I rescinded the command I sent out to the shoppers. They are no longer being persuaded through my ability. I'm sorry I was forced to use it on ordinary people, but there were few other options."

"That's a relief. I was worried for a second," Touma responded with his own sigh of relief. "Don't worry too much about using your ability, Misaki: like you said, we couldn't have done much else to avoid... problems." Touma looked around the isle for a moment before he took a deep breath. "If these boxes are on the shelf, though, that must mean there's more in the back, and even more in some dark, creepy as shit warehouse. We should tell someone more involved in the Magic Side to look into it," he pointed out, specifically trying to avoid further involvement. That detail didn't slip by Misaki in the slightest. In truth, she couldn't agree more.

After successfully paying for their groceries with no further incidents in Ken's Ultramarket, the couple were eager to leave in a hurry.

"I'll take the bags. I should be able to handle it, no problem," Touma offered.

"I will be carrying bags, as well. You're such a gentleman, and I love you for it, among many other reasons, but I will be helping you." Misaki stood her ground, being as gentle as she could with her (understandably) emotionally fragile husband.

Touma shrugged. "Thanks, you. I guess it would be a little bit too heavy. We kinda do have lots of stuff."

Once the two had exited the store, Touma's eyes were stung by the bright sun. Misaki had raised her hand to her forehead to act as a makeshift visor, as well. Sooner than later, their eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, much to their thanks.

"So—" Misaki began.

"Oi! Lovebirds!" Called a distinctly female voice from the sidewalk adjacent to them. "Over here!"

"Oi! Identify yourself, brigand! You dare walk in the King's lands with such impunity? Heresy, I say! Here ye, here ye! Down with the electric warlock!" Touma exclaimed back, causing Misaki to giggle at his choice of "ye old" terminology. It wouldn't be all that funny if anyone besides her prince had said it.

The source of the female voice was none other than Misaka Mikoto, level five electromaster, long time friend of Kamijou Misaki, and longer time friend of Kamijou Touma. With her was Shirai Kuroko, her... best friend? Misaki and Touma weren't exactly sure what went on between the two, and had spent many a dinner conversation theorizing, but they both had good reason to believe they had become more than friends; not that there was anything wrong with that. "If that's the case, they'll talk about it when they're ready," was Touma's thought on the issue.

Kuroko teleported herself and her precious electromaster to the other side of the street, appearing seconds later mere inches from Touma and Misaki.

Kuroko had dressed to impress; her hair was down, blowing about in the wind. She wore a light pink sundress with pink gladiator sandals to match. Mikoto wore something much more to her usual, tomboyish liking: a white, baggy t-shirt and a pair of rolled up, comfortable and easy to wear looking jean shorts.

"Where have you two been hiding?!" Mikoto yelled characteristically. "Nobody's seen you in ages."

"Hello, Mr. And Mrs. Kamijou," Kuroko said respectfully. Kuroko had been considerably more receptive to Touma since he and Misaki got together, and even more so when they announced that they planned to get married. Both knew precisely why: now she had Mikoto all to herself. It didn't make a lot of sense, as Mikoto had left behind her pre-teen crush on Touma some time ago. After seeing how far Misaki and Touma had come in their relationship, she had felt nothing but respect. Of course, she felt slightly downcast, too: she loved Touma when they were younger, and those feelings still existed. Mikoto would never deny them. But they were adults, now, not little kids. The time for jealousy and anger had come and gone like a particularly nasty winter. Touma would always be one of her closest, dearest friends for all he had ever done for her throughout her life, but that was the extent of that. Mikoto didn't mind; just having such a helpful and caring person as a friend was enough to satisfy her. In fact, the two even had an hours-long exchange the week before Touma and Misaki announced their plan to wed; everything was put out on the table and settled that night.

"Hello, Shirai-san." Misaki said. "It has been some time since we last talked. How have things been?" She asked, genuinely curious.

"Can't complain," Kuroko responded. She generated a lustful aura as a sneer stretched across her face. "With the weather warming up, I'm able to get Onee-Sama into all sorts of—"

"KUROKO! NOT IN PUBLIC!"

A controlled burst of lightning jumped from the electromaster's open, twitching hands and directly into the level four teleporter. It wasn't enough to do any real harm to Kuroko, of course – just enough to set her straight.

"Aaaah. Onee-Sama's whip of love. Such a lovely feeling."

"Ahem. Well," Misaki said, mock clearing her throat. Touma put his hand on the back of his neck and chuckled at the spectacle.

"Some things never change," he thought.

"Sorry, you two," Mikoto said, dusting her hands. "I've told her a thousand times. Not. In. Public." Mikoto growled under her breath. Misaki simply giggled in response.

"But you never answered my question." Mikoto pointed accusingly. "What have you been up to? Making a bunch of babies or something? Little Kamijous running around?"

"You might be onto something, Misaka-san," Misaki winked and made her trademark 'cute pose'.

"I've been making sure to be gentle with her; she's to be handled with care." Touma proudly announced, feigning macho-speak. Misaki went red and raised a finger to her lips as she giggled.

"Gimme the scoop! I want all the dirty details." Mikoto responded, leaning in close to her friend. "Tell me your secrets. The world must know what Mr. And Mrs. Kamijou have been getting up to since their disappearance."

Mikoto stepped back and laughed heartily, placing her hands on her hips. "Just messing with you guys; I hate it when people try to invade that personal space everyone has. Back off, idiot brigade."

The four friends exchanged mundane, comfortingly senseless information for some time, anything from local gossip to what the other had actually been getting into.

"Well, I have reason to believe my man's arms are going to fall out of their sockets if we don't get these groceries home soon. It was so nice seeing you again, Shirai-san and Misaka-san!" Misaki said with a warm, friendly smile on her face.

"Weak!" Mikoto exclaimed. "You are weak, sir knight."

"Begone from the King's lands, knave!" Touma responded, puffing his chest out.

"I'm going to hunt you down. We're all going to have another game of Traps and Trolls," Mikoto challenged. "My level forty two Human Paladin needs something to train on."

"I regret to inform you that my high-tier Orc Hunter will place an arrow between his eyes, Misaka-san. Oh, what a shame it would be for you to have to create a brand new character." Misaki taunted.

Mikoto sneered, a wide, toothy grin forming on her face as she took a step forward. "You're on, sister."

The four parted ways with waves and great laughter, now (apparently) with plans to get together soon, something Mikoto and Kuroko looked forward to greatly. They missed, and were worried about their friends.

"After the Fall of the Director, Kuroko..." Mikoto began.

"Kamijou-san changed." Kuroko finished. It was almost like the two shared some sort of mental link at this point. Kuroko knew they were soul mates, fated to share their lives together the same way Misaki and Touma did. Mikoto didn't know exactly how she felt. Confused would be the best way to describe it.

"Yeah, he got moodier, sadder, angrier. I know Misaki is there for him, but I'm still worried. I guess he seemed alright today, though. Maybe they've been working through his problems together, and that's why we haven't seen them in so long." Mikoto speculated. "I feel bad for making fun now."

"Ah, Onee-Sama! I almost forgot!" Kuroko exclaimed suddenly. She produced her high-tech Anti Skill issued cellphone and immediately dialed a number with the keypad.

"Tsuchimikado-san, I've got something to report in regards to Operation: Find Kamijou."

"That's correct."

"Is this 'Kami-yan' Kamijou-san?"

"Alright."

"Kamijou-san has made a rare appearance."

"Yes, with Mrs. Kamijou-san."

"Understood."


	5. A Certain Scientific Blunder

Kuroko stopped dead in her tracks and turned to Mikoto, who nearly crashed into the teleporter.

"Onee-Sama, Tsuchimikado-san needs us to be at the Dianoid," Kuroko stated. She moved closer and began to run her fingers over her Onee-Sama's exposed forearm flirtatiously, "I would love to take you into my arms, and..."

"Shush!" Mikoto exclaimed, comically reeling back and blushing madly to the point of near asphyxiation. "Save it! Shhh! Hush up! People are looking!"  
Indeed, people were looking at the spectacle. Kuroko never did do the whole "public affection" thing normally. Mikoto didn't mind Kuroko's behaviour when they were indoors, in the privacy of one of their respective homes, but not in public.  
"If I ever decide to take this... to the next, level - I mean, I'm fine with our friendship and it's... um, benefits - I'm going to have to have a talk with her about what I'm n-not comfortable with," Mikoto thought. "Why am I so flustered about this in my own head? My thoughts are mine and mine alone; Calm down."

After allowing Kuroko sufficient time to recover, Mikoto smiled at her. "In all seriousness, though, if you could save us both a trip..."

"Of course, Onee-Sama," Kuroko replied. "All you had to do was ask."  
Kuroko Shirai took her precious one's hand and, in a moment, they were atop some building Mikoto couldn't identify. A moment later, they were in the middle of a crowded street, pedestrians hustling and bustling about. The world flashed by again as the two travelled through the eleventh dimension one last time. They now found themselves just outside the imposing fortress that was the Dianoid.

"Kuroko's ability is efficient, but I'll never get used to that feeling of going through some other realm," Mikoto mused internally. "Still; even with my magnetism, I can't traverse Academy City this quickly. Maybe, if I had her ability for as long as she's had it, I would just get used to the sensation. She'd probably find my electromaster abilities weird, too."

The Dianoid was busy as usual; was this place ever NOT busy? Herds of irate and curious shoppers entered the oddly mouth-like entrance of the Dianoid. They almost resembled tiny, microscopic organisms being consumed by some larger creature. The only real difference is that people come back out from a mall and (usually) aren't melted down into nutrients and digested.

"Did Tsuchimikado-san say where he was going to meet us?" Mikoto asked, looking around at the rhythmic marching parties of consumers entering and leaving the mall.

"Yes, Onee-Sama," Kuroko replied, looking up from her phone. Her fingers had just finished running across the phone's keypad, so, presumably, she had sent a message in response to Motoharu. "He should be in a cafe in the Mid Level, he said he'd wave to us when he sees us," Kuroko elaborated. "We'll likely see him first, though; he's hard to miss." Mikoto couldn't help but chuckle in response; Motoharu certainly had a 'different' sense of style than most.

The two young women fought their way through the privileged and snobby crowds of the Lower Level, trying as hard as they could not to cause a traffic jam. Regardless, they were still stuck in many, and more than once Kuroko inconspicuously used her ability to get herself and Mikoto out of a tight situation or a long, unmoving line of seemingly mindless consumers.

Thankfully, sooner than later, the two made it to the elevator that lifted passengers from the Lower Level to the Mid Level of the Dianoid. The young women were less thankful for the fact that they were jammed inside of the sizable (but still not large enough) elevator car like sardines. The saving grace of this situation was, since their fellow passengers were entirely made up of the wealthy, they all took great care of their physical appearance, and, subsequently, their hygiene.  
Kuroko and Mikoto escaped from the jam packed elevator within a few minutes, rushing out like two warriors rushing into battle.  
"Onee-Sama! I think someone groped me! Only YOU'RE allowed to do that without asking!" Kuroko cried, inspecting her body to ensure she hadn't been well and truly violated by some troglodyte. Mikoto turned away and blushed a deep shade of red. "Shhhh!" She hissed in response, her hand placed over her mouth.

"Anyways..." Mikoto said, trying to change the subject to something less suggestive as quickly as possible, "let's get searching for Tsuchimikado-san. Knowing him as well as we do, I can safely say he probably set up shop in..."

"Misaka-san! Shirai-san!" Motoharu's voice came from somewhere nearby. With all of the noise in the Dianoid, tracking a single voice, even one as recognizable as Motoharu's to an accurate location was difficult. The two young women looked around, trying to spot out the blonde esper-magician hybrid.

"Yo!" Motoharu exclaimed loudly, placing both of his hands on Mikoto's shoulders. Mikoto jumped and almost unsuccessfully stifled a shriek of surprise. "I t-told you before; don't sneak up on people like that!" She cried, still shaking slightly from the sudden jolt of adrenaline that shot through her. In response, Motoharu sidestepped a flying kick from Kuroko, grinning like an idiot all the while.  
"Nice try, Shirai-san. I saw that coming a mile away."

"Tsuchimikado-san; you scared Onee-Sama. Apologize, now. Or I'll make sure you don't dodge the next one."

Motoharu raised his hands in mock fear. "Uh oh! Officer Kuroko is going to take me to the clink."

Having been released from her instinctively shocked state, Mikoto could only giggle in response. Kuroko was so overprotective and almost always serious, and Motoharu, on the other hand, was almost always making jokes and being a wisecracker despite the dangerous existence he lived. Mikoto couldn't help but respect him, despite his idiotic tendencies.

"How are you, Tsuchimikado-san?" Mikoto asked. She respectfully folded her hands behind her back.

"Ah, thank you for asking, Misaka-san! I'm golden." He flashed a grin her way, and Mikoto couldn't hold back a chuckle.

Kuroko, on the other hand, wasn't as impressed. "What's with the getup?" She inquired, now in full on Anti Skill grilling mode. Indeed, Motoharu's outfit was different from his usual. He wore a light, silver and green hooded jacket which was partway unzipped and a pair of grey, faded knee-length shorts to match. One his face was a pair of, even by Mikoto and Kuroko's standards, expensive aviator glasses that seemed to be custom-tinted. Neither of the girls could see his eyes beneath the sunglasses. Numerous long golden chains and necklaces hung around his neck. The Backstabbing Blade seemed to be doing well for himself.

"Is a guy not allowed to switch up his style? I think I rock this 'getup' pretty well, Shirai-san." Motoharu retorted.

Quick to try and diffuse the situation she believed was beginning to boil, Mikoto got between her acquaintance and best friend. "Okay there! Wasn't there something you wanted to tell us about, Tsuchimikado- san? Or did you just want to hang out with us?" Mikoto said with nervous laughter beneath her voice.

"I didn't forget, Misaka-san; I just wanted to rile Shirai-san up before we got all serious. Here, let's grab a seat and I'll go over the facts."

The young women followed the Backstabbing Blade to a secluded bench in the Dianoid's Mid Level, where they ordered some drinks from a nearby cafe and took a seat. "I've got it," Mikoto happily offered. "I have lots of yen I don't need for living expenses."

"Ah, Onee-Sama. So generous... truly the perfect woman." Kuroko fawned, making Mikoto blush intensely. "T, thank you, Kuroko..."Kuroko smiled brightly in response, internally ecstatic that her Onee-Sama was returning her love in one way or another.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?" Motoharu asked, trying to give the two espers as much room on the bench as respectfully possible. "We have a situation, unsurprisingly. Before you ask, bothering you two little seductresses wasn't my first option; I tried to contact some, old associates of mine. One has a wife and kid to look after, another has a loli and a spoiled brat crawling all over him, another is, understandably done with this sort of work, and the last? No idea. Completely off the radar." Motoharu began.

"So, I had to switch gears to 'plan B'. Any questions, before I continue?" Motoharu asked, signalling that this could potentially be quite a long explanation, if his verbal cues were anything to go by. Mikoto had some idea as to the identity of at least one of the people Motoharu had been referring to: Accelerator, the Number One ranked esper in Academy City. He didn't leave quite the same nasty taste in her mouth as he did ten years ago. She could never forgive, and she could never forget, but she could try to start over, and start over they did; while not 'friends' per say, the Number One and Number Three could count on one another in a dire situation.

"Not here," Mikoto said, sipping from her drink. She half-expected some witty remark from Kuroko about still using a straw.

"I don't think so," Kuroko answered. "If anything comes up that I don't understand, I'll make sure to interrupt you."

"So, I'm going to need old Kami-yan's assistance. Maybe. What I really need is Mrs. Kamijou's ability, but, Kami-yan likely wouldn't stand for having his beloved wife going off gallivanting and defeating baddies all by herself. She could get cut, or worse!" Motoharu sneered. "Kami-yan's got to learn that his woman is no damsel. I've seen what she can do, even without her ability. She's a bona fide badass."

"Where does Kamijou-san come into this, then? Moreover, where do Onee-Sama and I come into this?" Kuroko, true to her word, interrupted.

"Ah," Motoharu responded, sitting up slightly and moving in place. "I'll need Kami-yan to make an appearance and shatter some illusions with his right hand if something goes wrong. As for you two? Assuming you agree to help my organization and I out with this issue, you'll be providing backup for Mrs. Kamijou. I'll also need you to help me handle a domino effect that might come of this."

"Like?" Mikoto questioned. She could feel nervousness building inside of her. What exactly was Motoharu up to?

"Well, Kami-yan is probably going to, well, for lack of a better description, flip the fuck out when we lay on the fact that he's going to have to be a hero again," Motoharu responded, becoming serious. "Have you seen him lately? Kami-yan's a mess. I think he has some sort of post-traumatic stress. Some of our agents have been keeping watch on him; rogue magician attacks on his home, even after we took Index back into our protection, 'ya know? He's starting to get a bit better in recent days. I'm sure this will just undo all of that, but I guess it's a necessary evil. Funny thing, huh?"

"Index isn't in Academy City anymore?" Mikoto nearly spat. This was news to her, and to Kuroko, as well, who looked equally surprised. Neither apparently had any idea that Index had left Touma and Misaki's residence.

"Nope, she hasn't been here for a few years." Motoharu responded nonchalantly. "Ya see, following Aleister's dethroning, security became looser than... not using that one, not here. Agents reported that the Board of Directors was just barely keeping Academy City from falling into ruins. Rogue magicians, probably thinking they can become the next big Magic God and take advantage of the situation to completely wipe the Science Side out, or something else equally as stupid, were trying to get their paws on Index. It got so bad that we had to bring her back to England for safekeeping. It hit Kami-yan pretty hard."

"Rogue magicians? The Kamijou residence being attacked? Why didn't we hear anything about this?" Kuroko demanded. "We could have done something. Maybe Index would still be with Kamijou-san and Mrs. Kamijou-san!"

Motoharu breathed a frustrated sigh. "Shirai-san, we're on opposite sides of the playing field, here. We can't help each openly other unless the powers that be think they're in control of the situation and are pulling all the strings. Very few beings in this world, on one side or the other, don't have strings attached to them, tugging at them like puppets. Those that don't follow their own agendas. Like how things are now, now that Index is back in England. The Fall of the Director was different, but all of us on the Magic Side that were involved got huge shit for becoming part of what was, for all purposes, a Science Side event."

"Let me get this straight, then, Tsuchimikado-san," Mikoto huffed. "You want Shirai-san and I help you and your organization – which you have yet to even tell us the name of rope Touma and Misaki into helping you further your plans?"

Motoharu shrugged his shoulders. "You make it sound a lot worse than it actually is, Misaka-san. As for my organization – all you had to was ask! I'm with Necessarius. You've met them before, have you not? There are some forces of the Amakusa here, too, but they're not officially "with us". They've thrown their lot in because Kanzaki-sama loves me."

"Kanzaki-san is too good for the likes of you, pig." Kuroko snapped.

Mikoto didn't respond to Kuroko's jab towards Motoharu, partly because he didn't seem to be legitimately offended, partly because she was too busy thinking.

"More importantly, what's this issue you've been talking about? You haven't said anything about that, either." Kuroko pointed out. Mikoto agreed, but decided to remain silently and listen.

"In district ten, there's this new drug floating around the streets. It's called GROWTH," Motoharu began to explain, making hand gestures to go along with his speech. "It doesn't boost esper abilities or anything like that, that's a tried and tested way to get yourself killed, or thrown into a coma. Nah, it's SUPPOSED to turn affect parts of the brain that affect the personal reality and create something greater than a personal reality. Nobody knows what though, because every attempt at using GROWTH has supposedly failed. That's not what's important. What's important is what happens when someone consumes GROWTH. They mutate. Get all big and muscular, turn into nasty fleshy things covered in boils and tumors. I've gone undercover with GROWTH distributors and I've seen the transformation."

Mikoto decided to speak up and emerge from her mind. "Okay, so this GROWTH turns people into monsters. You talk about this transformation like it wasn't the original intent of the stuff."

"Good observation, Misaka-san," Motoharu said genuinely, clapping his hands a couple of times. "I can't say I know all the facts about GROWTH or its distribution. But I do know that, with Anti Skill stretched as thin as it is, Academy City couldn't deal with an outbreak of rampaging mutants. I also don't think that the increase of criminal activity in unsafe districts is a coincidence. You wanna know what I think? I think someone, another fucking string-puller, is using these gang types as a distraction. I think this goes a lot deeper than anyone knows, and I think that's why we need to get involved."

"This is a lot to think about." Mikoto admitted, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "I'm actually really freaked out right now. What you described is horrifying, Tsuchimikado-san."

Kuroko placed her hand on Mikoto's, which sat limp on the bench next to her legs. "Onee-Sama, everything will be okay. We'll take care of this and make sure nothing bad happens. Alright?"

Mikoto took deep breaths as she demanded her anxiety knock off its usual crap and held her best friend's hand. She could feel her heart rate slowing back to a normal pace, slowly, but the change was noticeable. "Thanks, Kuroko."

"Awwww! You're going to make me cry!" Motoharu exclaimed sarcastically, switching suddenly from incredibly serious to sarcastic and humorous.

"How does he do that so easily? Then again, he is a Magic Side spy. I guess when you're involved in his line of work you learn to manage yourself differently than normal people," Kuroko spoke inside of her head, trying to justify the Backstabbing Blade's arguably strange mannerisms. She wanted to believe they weren't being played, but couldn't shake the feeling she and her Onee-Sama were being strung along.

"I'm going to hope and assume that you're not lying to us, Tsuchimikado-san," Kuroko began, still holding Mikoto's hand. Apparently, her Onee-Sama hadn't noticed or didn't care. "I guess, given the circumstances..." Kuroko looked to Mikoto.

"What do you think, Onee-Sama?" Kuroko asked.

"I don't like the idea of dragging Misaki and Touma into this," Mikoto admitted. "But I'm with Kuroko. There's not much we can do. We can't just ignore this. If the Magic Side can't be involved, and Anti Skill is too busy dealing with every other problem this city has, we're going to have to take matters into our own hands."

"Glad to have you on board SS Save Academy City from Certain Destruction – Again! I'm your captain, Tsuchimikado Motoharu!" Motoharu flashed a grin at the two young women. "I'll get to making some calls. You're going to be staying here with me while I 'rope', as Shirai-san so delicately put it, Kami-yan and Mrs. Kamijou-san to get over here. Hopefully they're not having a private moment or something, huh?"

Misaki pressed her lips against Touma's chest, his intoxicating scent flowing into her nostrils like a serene river. She felt her prince's hands running along her naked body, gentle and pure. He caressed her with care. He cherished her so much – she was his everything, and right now, he had his everything in his arms. His hands were soft, and they felt so... right running along Misaki's skin. Neither could feel any happier – this was paradise for the two soul-bound lovers. After the revelation at the Ultramarket, this was what the two needed. To enter their own private abode and just enjoy one another and all of the primal, savage, unchained satisfaction such interactions brought. It was the most natural escape from the cruel world around them.

Misaki slowly moved her body upwards, ceasing her kissing. She leaned down towards her prince's face, absolute, unquestioning love in her starry eyes. She moved her lips toward Touma's. Before they could lock, however, his hands, still so gentle, pressed against her forearms, stopping her.

"Misaki," Touma said; his voice surprisingly small.

"Touma, my prince, my sunshine." Misaki adoringly replied, running her fingers through her prince's hair.

Since they entered one another's embrace it had become anything but neat. "Misaki, this is all I want," Touma began, his voice trembling. The young man took a long, deep breath and stood against the rockslide of emotions. "I don't want whatever this thing in my hand is. Not anymore. I know it's here for life, but I don't want it. I want you. I don't want other women following me around because of this fucked up power I have. I hate it. I can admit it; I hate it. It makes me feel terrible when other women throw themselves at me. I just. Want. You. All I want is a peaceful life with you. We should escape the City; sympathetic people are helping young people escape from the walls. We could leave this place behind, Misaki," Touma rambled, bordering on breaking down and sobbing so raw and alive were his emotions. The rockslide was pounding him as it raged on.

The same rockslide had already claimed Misaki. A wide, full smile shone brightly on her beautiful face. Tears of happiness dripped down onto Touma's neck. To Touma, she was the image of perfection – a face crafted by some godlike sculptor; a living work of art. Touma reached his left hand up and pressed his palm against her cheek; it was wet to the touch. Misaki reached her hand up and pressed it against Touma's, caressing it and holding it close. "Touma," she struggled with her words, "I want nothing more. Since the day you saved my life ten years ago, I knew I wanted to spend my life with you. I became your girlfriend, then, later your wife. I cherish so deeply our marriage. I cherish so deeply this ring on my finger. You have brought me nothing but happiness since the day I met you. I wake up every morning, with you, my beloved prince, in my arms, and I am in heaven. Right now, I am in heaven. You make my life worth living! I do not want to live in a world without you! I want to escape Science and Magic with you, Kamijou Touma! I would do anything for us to have our own world, for just the two of us that is free of strife!" She cried, letting her body sink into Touma's as sobs wracked her body.

"Misaki, I love you."

"Touma, I love you too. Please do not stop holding me."

For a while, the soul-bound lovers laid like that. Touma's arms were wrapped around Misaki's back; nothing in this universe or any other would tear her away from him. Not now, not ever. Misaki's face was buried between her prince's neck and shoulder. She would never let herself be torn from her prince's embrace. This was where she belonged; this was her rightful place.

Free of clothing, free of the bed sheets beneath them, the two could only feel one another.

Then, a droning, repetitive sound began to ring out. At first, it went ignored. The walls of paradise were mighty and steadfast. In response, the sound demanded that it be heard; it ripped down the walls of the couple's paradise and barged in unannounced.

"Baby, I think your phone is ringing." Misaki said; she sounded like she was only half in the real world. She sniffled. "Every sound you make is so adorable," Touma thought.

"Uhn?" Touma grunted as he turned his neck to look at the screeching hunk of plastic and tempered glass. "I guess it is. This had better be good."

Misaki begrudgingly rolled over and allowed Touma to step down from the bed and onto the carpeted floor below. Reaching out, he grabbed the phone and swiped the 'answer' option on his screen.

"H... Hello?" Touma asked; upon hearing his own voice, he realized it, too, sounded almost distant. "I guess we were a lot deeper in the moment than I thought."

"Kami-yaaaaaaaaaan! You sound like shit!" Touma heard Motoharu's voice exclaim.

"Is there something you need, Tsuchimikado? I'm kind of busy." Touma uncharacteristically snarled; he didn't plan for it to come out that way, but it did.

"I hope I didn't interrupt the mating ritual of Kami-yan," Motoharu replied jokingly. "You should bring yourself and the missus to the Dianoid. Myself, Shirai-san and Biribiri-sama are here. Catch up on old times, huh? Biribiri-sama is paying for our little date." Touma could hear a protest of "Stop calling me that!" on Motoharu's end, followed by the untamed growls usually associated with her reaction to being called that hated name. He shook his head and couldn't help but grin.

"I'll call you back in a few, okay? I'm going to talk it over with Misaki."

"Don't return to the mating ritual! We ne-"

Touma pressed his finger against the "end call" option and tossed the phone back on the dresser from where he first picked it up.

"I know it's sudden, but you feel like getting ready and going to see them? It's still early enough in the afternoon. I can handle dinner tonight," Touma said, offering Misaki his hand. His wife stretched in response, rolling over onto her stomach. Touma's eyes instinctively drifted south; he didn't even attempt to stop them. He knew Misaki wouldn't mind.

"Staring is anything but polite, my prince." Misaki teased.

"I can do more than stare." Touma boasted, a grin forming on his face as he took a step closer. His body was beginning to crave a different sort of attention.

Misaki giggled. "You're all mine this evening. I am going to serve my prince to the best of my ability. I cannot wait to satisfy your every single need." She stepped down onto the floor to join her husband. "To answer your question; I'd love to go see Tsuchimikado-san. Who else will be there?" She asked before she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and pressed her forehead against his chin. "Shirai-san and Misaka, I guess they bumped into him somewhere."

Misaki felt something deep inside of her consciousness stir. At first, the young woman couldn't put a finger to exactly what it was. After some momentary contemplation, the unknown variable reared its ugly head in her direction: it was suspicion. Why would two of the most in important and influential espers post-Fall just 'bump into' a spy like Motoharu? "Let us find out, first. Jumping to conclusions solves very little."

"Are you okay, Misaki?" The young woman was forced out of her mental debate by her husband's concerned voice. "You look like you're spacing out."

"I did, momentarily. I am concerned, Touma."

"About?"

"Tsuchimikado-san. What if he is trying to drag you into some sort of Magic business?"

Touma took a long, deep breath. His fists clenched. He could feel white-hot rage growing. "That's not something I considered, honestly. If he is, I'm going to shatter that illusion of his. I'll beat his fucking face in until he gets the message." Touma growled.

In a moment, Misaki's hands were on her husband's cheeks. "I would greatly prefer if you did not do such a thing. Violence solves nothing in these types of circumstances. We'll talk to Tsuchimikado-san. If that is indeed what he has planned, we should politely decline. I imagine it has to do with some rogue magician causing trouble, nothing more. Tsuchimikado-san likely wishes to use your Imagine Breaker to make his Church's job easier."

"Where would I be without you, Misaki?"

"You're a smart man, Touma; smart, but rash."

"How much do you want to bet they're screaming one another's names right now, disturbing the neighbors?" Motoharu broke the silence. He pulled a wad of crinkled bills from his pocket. "All of this on they're totally fucking, ignoring us, and therefore making all of our lives a lot harder."

"Their business is their own, Tsuchimikado-san." Kuroko reprimanded. "They're husband and wife. It's not... that disgusting word. It's lovemaking."

"The same sort of thing I'm going to do with Onee-Sama, when she finally comes to terms with her feelings," Kuroko mused, a perverted aura expanding around her. Mikoto seemed to take no notice.

"Whatever you want to call it, sugarplum." Motoharu yawned in response to Kuroko's corrections to his speech.

Without warning, Motoharu's phone began to vibrate against his leg.

"Well, speak of the devil and the devil will come, it's Kami-yan!" Motoharu yelled, which attracted the attention of intrusive customers passing by their bench. The Backstabbing Blade quickly read over the message before he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "We're going to meet 'em outside. Save them the trip." The two young women nodded in response, confirming their continued support for the plan.

"Listen, let's be serious. If Kami-yan loses his damn mind, neither of you are going to get involved. I can tangle with him; I've put him on the floor before, and I'll do it again if I have to. Kami-yan is a good friend of mine, but I'd rather not be bludgeoned to death."

"Mrs. Kamijou-san's ability can easily turn your brain to mush, need I remind you?" Kuroko pointed out. "I doubt she's going to sit idly by and watch her husband get into a brawl with his friend."  
"I have to agree, Tsuchimikado-san," Mikoto chimed in. She had been oddly silent for the last while, but she couldn't agree more with Kuroko.

"Don't you worry yourself about Misaki; if push comes to shove, I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

A short time later, the trio met up with Touma and Misaki just outside the Dianoid. The crowds entering and leaving the mall hadn't stopped or slowed even a bit, which didn't surprise anyone. The Dianoid had to be one of the busiest places in any of Academy City's safe districts.

"The lovers arrive!" Motoharu proclaimed, tossing his hands into the air. "I honestly thought you were going to let us down, Kami-yan; I even put good, honest yen down on it!" He added.

"Thanks, Tsuchimikado." Touma grumbled sarcastically.

"Hello, Tsuchimikado-san. It is nice to see you again." Misaki said, extending her hand.

"And you, too, Mrs. Kamijou!" Motoharu said enthusiastically, shaking Misaki's gloved hand.

"So, what are we doing? I was under the assumption you were going to drag us around the Dianoid," Touma questioned. "Nah," Motoharu quickly replied. "If you're game, we were planning on going on a little walk. I thought we could go to one of the nearby parks. Plenty of sunshine."

"You do not want us around a lot of people then, Tsuchimikado-san. Why is that? Is something wrong?" Misaki barely tried to hide her accusatory tone. Motoharu kept the poker face up in vain. Misaki was a damned genius; of course she could see through this ruse. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he had to think on his toes to try and get the howling thing back in. "Wrong? Nah, nothing's wrong. Anti Skill presence in and around the Dianoid is at an all-time high. Not enough room for something to go wrong."

"Anyone else, by any chance? I am just, curious." The contempt in Misaki's voice was clear and not masked at all. The cat had leapt from Motoharu's arms and got hit by a car. "Let's not get carried away, huh? Smooth moves." Motoharu said. "Let me explain. I lied through my teeth. I won't lie about that. Hah, if this weren't such a terrible situation, that would be funny. You caught me. I should've planned better, knowing I was going to be playing against a master of the human mind," he began. "But I don't have the time to connive and plot. This is pretty serious. Your involvement would b-"  
Motoharu wasn't given the time to finish.

Touma didn't punch him in the face. He didn't uppercut the Backstabbing Blade. Touma didn't even shove him. With lightning reflexes honed from years of hand to hand combat, Motoharu found himself lifted from the ground, Touma's hands gripping him by his shirt. Touma didn't seem to be struggling holding the hundred and ninety five pound Backstabbing Blade.

"Why did you lie to us then, Tsuchimikado? Why the fuck did you lie to us? I told you after we stopped that son of a bitch I was done with that life!" Thankfully, Touma was smart enough to get specific.

"I can't run around playing the hero for your fucking Church. I'm a married man! I have a life! I have responsibilities, Tsuchimikado. I hav-"

Motoharu managed to free himself; he forced Touma to relent by clenching his fists around, and applying considerable pressure to his wrists. Though Touma was strong, he was still human. The Backstabbing Blade landed on his feet, only stumbling slightly.

"Nothing you care for will even be left behind if you don't help me, Kamijou Touma. This isn't some small Magic Side problem. This isn't some magician trying to cause trouble. You don't help me, and almost everyone in this city is going to die. This thing goes deeper than any of us could ever understand, and Imagine Breaker is going to play a role in preventing it."

"Fuck you, Tsuchimikado. I bet you tried this shit with Accelerator, too. What did he say to you, Tsuchimikado? What did he SAY?" Touma practically roared. "We've all moved on. Accelerator is, for convenience's sake, a father. I bet you tried to drag him into this shit, and I bet he told you to go fuck yourself. I'm right, aren't I, Tsuchimikado?"

The Backstabbing Blade, the master manipulator, the man who always kept his cool, lost it. A combination of pressure, nervousness and a feeling of helplessness formed a lethal concoction within him. Motoharu began to rush towards Touma, who took a defense stance, his Imagine Breaker at the ready. Misaki reached for her remote, ready to fry Tsuchimikado's brains if he dared to try and lay a hand on her beloved.

But the blow never came.

Motoharu was pulled backwards by an invisible force. Mikoto's hand was outstretched, and she was using her ability to magnetically pull Motoharu by his many golden chains. "I can't watch this happen, and I won't. You're friends! You can't beat one another to a pulp!" The level five electromaster exclaimed.

"Did you have some involvement in this, Misaka? What about you, Shirai?!" Touma demanded. He took long, deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. I lost it and I should've tried better to keep myself together. You're... you're right. We can't just let this thing happen. If you're not lying to me about this threat to what's left of Academy City..."

"I should be the one to apologize," Misaki stepped forth. "I was responsible for this. I was bitter, and I allowed my feelings to get in front of me. My husband wants to find peace. I felt, in the heat of the moment, that you were the one responsible for trying to steal it from him. From us."

Touma shook his head. "No, Misaki. I don't blame you for calling out this idiot's shit. I was about to do the same."

"Could you let me go, Misaka-san? I can barely breathe, here." Motoharu choked out, struggling to pull the golden chains away from his throat, but to no avail.

"O-of course!" Mikoto stammered. She released her magnetic grip, and Motoharu stumbled, fell to his knees, and hung his head.

Before he suddenly tossed his head back and laughed.

"Kami-yan! We're missing Pierce, sure, but we're still the Delta Force! The Delta Force can't fight amongst itself! We're brothers in arms! If Fukiyose-sama were here we'd both be out cold! We must become the Fukiyose-sama!"

Motoharu rose up, dusting off his shorts. "Come here and gimme a hug, you big lug of shit."

Touma carefully approached the Backstabbing Blade, who took him into a manly embrace. Touma returned the act, at first reluctantly, but he remembered his friend. Touma's rage subsided, and he allowed himself to forgive.

"Fucking liar," Touma chuckled.

"All well and good," Kuroko said, shattering the moment like an illusion. "But a lot of people are looking. We sort of caused a scene and we should probably get out of here before Anti Skill is called. Either way, I'm going have some explaining to do." The teleporter breathed a sigh before the five took off as quickly as they could; the destination wasn't clear, nor was it important. Getting anywhere but the Dianoid was important.


	6. A Certain Twist of Fate

Saiai Kinuhata and D-001 made their way down the ruined, broken street of District 10, their meeting place a few blocks behind them. "I super hope some more gang guys decide to try and hit us up," she thought, full of excitement. "I love seeing the looks on their faces when they super can't do a thing to me."

"So, what exactly are we going to get into? I super forgot to ask, and you never told me." Saiai said, breaking the admittedly awkward silence. Since Saiai decided to take on this job, the robot didn't seem too intent on talking. Saiai might've been a Dark Side mercenary, but she wasn't a mute. She liked chatting a lot, in fact.

"We will search for items of great importance and dissolve an operation run by simpletons, for simpletons," D-001 replied, not bothering to face his partner. "I have tracked a package containing two of the nine items I require to set my evil plan in motion to a location ten district blocks from this location," D-001 motioned to the ground beneath them to illustrate its point. "I'm trusting you with this information in the hope that you won't attempt to halt the previously mentioned evil plan. It's my best evil plan yet, and I'm quite fond of it.

The machine continued, "I would have intervened at an earlier date if their couriers' vehicles didn't pass through areas infested with innocents."

"What items, exactly? Quit being so super secretive. I don't like doing jobs where I don't get enough info." Saiai was going to push the machine until it gave her the information she desired. "I super don't like being left in the dark." Saiai had a lot of questions in regards to D-001's last comment, but decided to hold them. She didn't need to know anything about it go get this job done. "Who cares if the robot is super trying to play the hero? It says it has a pile of yen. It super better not be lying."

"If you really must know, tiny, irritating human," D-001 said in mock annoyance, "Creator is a psychopath. This is a fact as solid as existence itself; but he's no halfwit. I am currently blocked from using most of my plethora of rather spectacular abilities, abilities I can use to easily drive clan Kihara, and all who swear allegiance to said clan, to total extinction. Not only have I come to the conclusion that this is the singular road to peace in this City, but let's leave it at "I have a personal vendetta of sorts". I am searching, and paying you a pretty penny to help me search for the drivers I require to use my abilities."

Saiai had certainly heard of the Kihara family; who on the Dark Side hadn't? They had been, and still were, one of the most influential, and, more importantly, most evil families in not only Academy City, but the world. Their knack for cruel and unethical human experimentation, as well as their collective desire to do anything to further their unknown goals made them something of a legend in the shady underbelly of Academy City. With the City in disarray after the Fall of the Director, the Kihara clan ran rampant and nearly uncontrolled. Anti Skill's presence in the unsafe (and sometimes even neutral) districts made operating openly difficult for the deranged clan.

"You're kind of a mess, ro-man," Saiai pointed out without warning. "One side of your face is super missing."

"I'm aware, Kinuhata Saiai. I am incapable of feeling pain, yet your jabs hurt my synthetic feelings. Do you have a problem with the way I appear? If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best. I will be taking half of your belongings and the children. Good-bye."

Saiai breathed a sigh. "Not funny; wow, you're super lame."

Within seconds, another firefight began. Saiai heard the sound of (and felt the tickling sensation of) bullets rattling inside of their barrels before emerging and raining down on the petite Offense Armor user and the war machine. Saiai could tell from years of experience their foes were wielding combat rifles, so quick was the rate of fire of the weapons.

"Why don't you super show me what you can do instead of cracking lame jokes, ro-man?" Saiai teased, putting her hands on her hips and sticking her tongue out before a shotgun shell fire from afar hit her in the back, causing her to almost lose her footing. "Back-picker! I'm super going to make you regret that!"

Armed and armored thugs, some former Skill Out, previously woefully unemployed, some simply thugs who were taking advantage of the situation in Academy City's unsafe districts were the culprits of this attack. Most were wearing makeshift helmets or bandanas over their faces. Like cockroaches, they appeared from alleyways, emerged from abandoned, broken-down shops and appeared from the back seats of bombed out cars to fire on the two. The hail of bullet fire didn't seem to be doing much to Saiai's robotic client, though she could see dents forming on its armored body, as well, it was occasionally forced a step or two backwards from the blast of shotgun shells.

The war machine's head darted from side to side, seemingly trying to hunt down a singular target. Its eyes and the markings on its body armor turned from cyan to red in response to the threats around it. "To think, I previously believed our trip was going to be uneventful."

D-001 broke into a dash, its limbs making soft humming sounds with each individual movement. Their assailants' streams of bullets followed the war machine as it ran, striking the already damaged pavement.

"The robot's heading right for us! Vacate the premises!" One of the gang members squatting inside a ruined car barked. He and his fellows abandoned their station quickly enough to escape the earth-shattering slam D-001 delivered. Once the full weight of the machine's body crashed against the destroyed vehicle, it was sent into the air like a near weightless Frisbee. It made an arc through the sky and crashed into a mess of trees and twisted steel benches tossed about an abandoned park nearby, causing a great deal of racket.

"Disengage, humans. I'm sure there's something greater in this world for you than this miserable joke of an existence. I'll refrain from lying to your faces. Ripping you apart and watching the hope drain from your eyes won't weigh on my conscience for long. But, as a gracious and negotiable soul, I'll offer you this singular chance to flee and return to whatever cowardly primate in a suit and tie sent you."

D-001's answer was multiple shotgun shells to the head.

"Looks like we've got a hero!" An assailant angrily proclaimed.

"Go fuck yourself, Robocop!" another fired.

"Not nice. Not nice at all!" D-001 yelled back, rushing in for another vicious blow. Thugs fled and scattered in all directions, continuing their fire in response.

Saiai had ripped part of the destroyed road up, holding the massive, ball of broken concrete above her head like a beach ball as bullets continued to pelt her. "Which one of you super hit me in the back? I'll hunt you down, coward!" The petite Offense Armor user cried, anger coursing through her. If it was one thing Saiai hated more than anything, it was cowards.

Something bounced off of Saiai's Offense Armor. It felt like something weak pressed up against her; then again, and again, and again. In rapid succession, Saiai could feel, but not see, something touching her. Something a tad strong (but not by much) hit her, bouncing harmlessly away.

"Dummy Check," Saiai thought. "Must be a high level, at least a level four. Still, what a super sissy."

"You can super come out now, loser!" Saiai exclaimed, randomly grabbing at the air in hopes of grabbing her unseen assailant.

There was a whining sound coming from somewhere above Saiai. Every passing second it was quickly growing louder. The petite Offense Armor user's experience kicked in, and she recognized the sound. It was the sound of a rocket, likely fired from a rocket launcher of some description. Survival skills kicked in, and Saiai tossed the ball of concrete she held before she tossed herself to one side as far as her small frame would allow.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the rocket hit the area she stood moments earlier. The earth violently exploded. Saiai's hearing was reduced to a loud, intrusive ringing. Plumes of smoke were expelled from the impact site and piles of shattered concrete were tossed out in all directions. Saiai tried her best to dodge the larger debris and allowed the smaller bits to bounce off of her Offense Armor.

Once the smoke had cleared, she witnessed the robot she was working with tackle an invisible mass of something to the ground. Whoever they were, they were apparently only invisible to the naked human eye.

"I've always enjoyed hide and seek. The thrill of seeking the hider is, appealing." D-001 said, an unsettling calmness in its voice. Its knee was pressed firmly against its victim's chest, holding them in place. Though Dummy Check users could hide themselves from people, the ability's fatal flaw was that it could not hide from secondary sources. D-001, being a machine, could see the Dummy Check user without an issue. "What do you say? I've had my fun. Perhaps I should let you go free. Maybe we could go for round two?" Combat rifle fire bounced off of the war machine's body, causing sparks to fly and creating a chaotic environment.

"Get the fuck off me! Get AWAY!" The female shrieked, fighting in vain against the metallic being holding her in place. Her long, brown hair was plastered against the cracked road like hundreds of slithering snakes with blood. Her armor was damaged, the cloth armguards ripped and torn from its impact against the ground.

"Not the answer I was looking for. For shame," D-001 said in a disappointed tone. "Go, get. Scram. I'm putting you on indefinite sick leave." The machine lifted its knee from the female's body. Initially, her shaking body struggled to rise from her pathetic position. Once she was up, however, she took no time in heeding D-001's demand.

"Thanks for the assist, ro-man! I would've gotten her eventually though! Dummy Check users are super lame!" Saiai yelled in the machine's direction as she slammed a gang member who had foolishly rushed at her with the butt of his rifle over her shoulder and directly onto the ground. "These goons super can't handle us! Mainly me, but you're helping, kind of!"

D-001 had ducked behind a chunk of debris scattered by the previous rocket-related attempt on Saiai's life. It had scavenged a combat rifle and was returning fire. Its accuracy wasn't perfect, but, assisted by its steady mechanical arms, it was good enough. The amount of screaming men and women writhing on the road in pain was a testament to its violent effectiveness. "I'm super surprised it knows how to shoot," Saiai mused. "What's its game, though? It's missing vitals on purpose. Argh, who super cares? Let it do what it wants."

Shortly after D-001 had begun to return fire, most of the assailants had retreated, though it had equally as much to do with their inability to harm Saiai. Machine and petite esper regrouped once the coast was confirmed to be clear.

"That was super fun, but I say we should get a move on. We have a job to do, ro-man," Saiai said, immediately taking the reins once again. "Besides, didn't you super mention "dissolving an operation" or something like that earlier?"

"So, you do listen to me when I speak. I guess I won't divorce you after all, Kinuhata Saiai." D-001 replied. "I did. But first, a pop quiz. Do you know about a little taboo called "GROWTH", and how much do you know?"

"GROWTH?" Saiai asked inquisitively. "Of course I super know about GROWTH. I work on the Dark Side of Academy City," she said, as if D-001 was a moron for asking. "GROWTH is supposed to make stronger espers, and it kind of does, but people who ingest it super turn into uglies. Word on the street is it's super part of some big experiment."

D-001 responded by nodding its head. "You have the basics. I lean towards the belief it's an experiment being funded by clan Kihara. It seems, very Kihara-y in its operation. In addition, I also lean towards the belief that the experiment's overseers are using a particularly spacey abandoned five story apartment complex as a base of operations; said overseers may or may not be Kiharas. If they are," the machine's speech began to grow cold. "They're mine. First, I will relish in their fear of the unknown. When I present myself, I will relish further in ripping their hope, and finally, their lives from them. You will not touch them."

"And what if I super decide to kill them before you do, just to spite you, ro-man?" Saiai challenged as she placed her hands on her hips. The petite esper stopped walking and stared up at the machine.

"It wouldn't be a wise choice. You're not invincible, and I would be happy – no, ecstatic to remind you of that. Vengeance against those who would have seen me a slave to their whims is all I have, Kinuhata Saiai. Without it, I am a wandering construct without purpose."

Saiai stuck out her tongue. "I was super messing with you ro-man, relax. I don't like being threatened. Don't let it happen again."

"Please, call me Devastator. Alternatively, you may refer to me by my originally designated codename, "D-001." A little late for introductions, but never late than never."

"Such a gentleman, you're super winning my heart." Saiai replied sarcastically.

Following a silent, somewhat eerie walk, the petite Offense Armor user and the machine arrived at their destination. "Duck; we'll super come up with a plan before we run in there. I saw armed guards with big rifles. They looked like high powered sniper rifles. You think they caught word of us?" Saiai pressed herself up against the rear wall of an abandoned shop. Devastator followed suit.

Devastator shrugged. "I spy, with my little eye,"

Devastator peered around the corner; its vision zoomed into the general area of the apartment complex by three times. It wasn't concerned about itself. It could act as a bullet sponge to a degree; if everything went smoothly, this current shell would be abandoned anyways. If it lost Saiai, it lost its backup, backup it would need if its goals were to be realistically reached. Indeed, he saw armed guards. They were even more heavily armored than the street thugs they faced earlier; they seemed to be wearing scavenged Kevlar Anti Skill gear, their faces hidden beneath protective helmets.

"You were correct in your assumption; high powered sniper rifles of an unknown make, strong enough to cause you significant, though not likely fatal harm," Devastator said, explaining the situation.

"What are we super going to do? Wing it and hope for they don't hit me too much?" Saiai asked. She wasn't nervous, but she didn't want to risk taking too much heavy fire. She was aware her Offense Armor wasn't all-powerful, and was always willing to figure out an alternative method of getting a job done.

"I'll act as a distraction. I'll offer the primates my beautiful body and you'll hammer at the front door until you find a way inside," Devastator suggested in a strangely serious manner.

"Yuck, you look like road kill, ro-man. You're super fit for the dump. Anyways, let's try it, I guess. It's better than standing here all night."

Devastator nonchalantly walked out from their hiding place. In the silence of the night, Saiai could better hear the eerie humming noises its limbs made. Saiai remained behind the protection of the ruined shop and waited for its verbal signal. In a few moments, it came.

"Hello, friends; my name is Devastator, and I'll be hosting the events tonight. Let's get the games going." The machine didn't shout its words; instead, it simply amplified the volume of its uninterested introduction.

Saiai heard shots being fired and battle cries being uttered from the balconies facing their direction. She tried to stay as far out of the armed guards' line of sight as she could. Examining her surroundings to make sure she wouldn't be flanked, she saw from the corner of her eye Devastator throwing one of the snipers down from his perch on a third story balcony. He screamed as he fell before he hit the ground below with a satisfying "thud". He didn't go silent, but instead rolled in place, moaning like an injured beast.

The chaotic sounds of sniper rounds banging against thick metal continued to assault Saiai's ears as she quickly approached the front lobby of the apartment complex, her small frame allowing her footsteps to be lost in the sounds of the battle raging just above her. Surprisingly, the windows weren't destroyed, and the large, rusty steal door was still on its hinges. "Here goes nothing, let's super hope this pays off," the petite esper thought, preparing herself. She delivered a mighty punch to the door, knocking it from its frame and destroying the weak hinges with her Offense Armor.

"Intruder!" She heard a voice from above yell. "Get people down there! NOW!"

"This is super bad." Saiai grimaced. Picking up her pace, she rushed through the lobby and into a hall filled with rows of steel doors with numbers on them. The wallpaper was an ugly, worn out and vaguely creepy beige. The carpet beneath Saiai's feet was equally as ugly and faded; it was a dark, swampy green with dirty yellow trimming. She could hear gunfire behind her, as well as more sarcastic quips in response from Devastator. At the end of the hall, she came to a wall with an ancient looking, dust covered painting on it. To one side were stairs that lead to the second floor of the complex, to the other, an open door. Saiai chose to enter the open door; going upstairs likely meant facing armed guards with their rifles. Being hit at close range was not an option.

Saiai was immediately hit with the scent of rot. As someone in a line of work that often consisted of working in unsafe and often downright disgusting conditions, Saiai had adjusted quite well; but she couldn't overcome the natural sensation to make a face. "Super gross, clean this place up." She thought, repulsed. She could hear the soft echoes of her feet slapping against the concrete steps as she descended into the belly of the beast. She stepped down from the last stair and onto the wet floor. Saiai just barely turned a corner before she pulled herself back. Panic, an unfamiliar sensation coursed through the petite Offense Armor user. She peeked, the top of her face just barely emerging on the other side.

Rows, upon rows of desks, bags of an unknown brown powder on them likely to be the fabled GROWTH Saiai had heard so much about, cardboard boxes, some open and some taped shut. Behind each desk were two or three people, who, upon further observation, were performing the same menial tasks over and over again. Filling each box to its full capacity and then taping its flaps. Each box was moved down a makeshift assembly line. An individual at the end of each table that was visible to Saiai looked to be in charge of neatly stacking the boxes.

"Kinuhata Saiai," Devastator's trademark metallic voice came from behind her, "I had a feeling I'd find you creeping around down here. F-"

"Super shut up!" Saiai hissed. "Look around the corner; quietly."

Devastator stepped in front of Saiai and, rather than peeking, stood in the hallway leading into the room with the desks.

"Problems galore, Kinuhata Saiai."

"Are you unable to just teleport us out of here, Shirai-san?!" Misaki exclaimed, leading the running band of young people away from the Dianoid.

"Let me try something! I might be able to!" Kuroko called back. She spun on her heel and grabbed Touma's right hand, in her panicked state, she forgot about Imagine Breaker's effects. She tried to perform the require calculations, but his hand just made a weird sound in response. "Try the other one, Shirai-san!" Touma said frantically. Kuroko changed hands and once again went through the calculations in her head. Everything went black for a split second before the two appeared some two hundred meters away from the megamall.

"Wait here, Kamijou-san. I'll get the others," Kuroko instructed.

"O... okay," Touma muttered. He was still recovering from the strange sensation of jumping through the eleventh dimension for the first time in a while.

Kuroko appeared before Touma again with Mikoto in tow before she vanished. Moments later, she returned with Motoharu and Misaki. The latter two appeared as dazed as Touma was; Mikoto seemed less surprised, but took a seat on the grass next to them regardless.

"Now, can we walk, Kami-yan? Feeling better? We need to get somewhere less populated. Board of Directors has people everywhere. I can spot them out; they're trying to act natural, but they're not able to pull it off. Not like me." The Backstabbing Blade flashed a grin.

"By the way," Motoharu turned around to face Touma. "Don't try that again, Kami-yan. You caught me at a moment when I let my guard down. It won't happen again. You're lucky Biribiri-sama was there."

"Eheheh..." Mikoto muttered awkwardly. "This is so uncomfortable." She thought.

"Not really, Tsuchimikado," Touma admitted. "But I guess I'm listening. Do I have a choice? If Academy City's in danger, everything I care about is in danger. I can't just ignore this." He decided however, to ignore Motoharu's passive aggressive warning.

"Well, we've wasted enough time already. I know a place, not a lot of people go there, and the Board's guys don't even know it exists, as far as I'm aware; never seen 'em lurking."

Motoharu set the example. He placed his hands in his pockets and began walking at a slow enough pace for everyone else to catch up if they decided to lag behind.

Mikoto gave Touma an "I'm sorry" look before she followed; she felt terrible for her involvement in this, even more so than when Motoharu laid out the facts in the Dianoid. Kuroko wasn't far behind her Onee-Sama.

Misaki seemed to just be recovering from her trip through the eleventh dimension. The world stopped spinning as the dizziness was just beginning to fade.

"Baby?" Misaki asked, approaching her husband as quickly as she could. "I do not want to leave him alone," she thought. "He is so... vulnerable right now as it is."

"Misaki, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I bet I really pissed you off," he said, walking slowly enough to stay out of earshot, but just enough to keep Motoharu's blonde hair in sight. "All you asked for me to do was refrain from being violent, and I just up and ignored what you asked me to do. Fuck," he clenched his fists. "Touma," Misaki placed her hand on his clenched fist. She would've taken off her gloves to let him feel her soft touch against his body, a tactic she used often to un-grumpify her husband, but she didn't want to get inside his head, especially not now.

"What matters in this situation is that you did not cause Tsuchimikado-san any lasting harm. You did not hit him. You had an emotional response. You are a human, just like I am, and we both have flaws. I was the one who initiated the incident. I, too, had an emotional response. No one is to blame, because, in actuality, there is no cause for blame."

Touma couldn't help himself; he felt weak and out of control. He felt the same way he did in that Hell. "I've been so clingy and weak lately, she's probably getting sick of it," Touma thought. Regardless of his negative musings, he took his wife, his single beacon of comfort in this world and held her close, unconcerned how anyone else reacted.

"I don't want this to be happening. I know it is, and I should've known better than to try and avoid being dragged into another mess, but I just want us to be free."

Misaki of course returned the embrace, but she didn't know what to say; she wanted to tell her husband to run with her, to escape Academy City's oppressive walls. But there were too many factors that made that the wrong answer. For starters, from a financial standpoint, the outside world, in their frustration at a worldwide lack of any developments in their own Power Curriculums, shunned espers produced in Academy City. A level two had a hard time finding work outside of Academy City, even in Japan. A level five like her would be lucky not to be hunted like a feared force of evil. Touma could likely find work since he was a level zero, but Misaki would never allow her husband to work himself to death to support her.

"I don't want this be happening either, Touma. But we can't run, not far enough away to escape turmoil. Too much stands against us."

Touma suddenly broke away from the embrace, but didn't let his soul mate's hands go. A look of determination had crossed his rugged face. Chills went up Misaki's spine.

It was a look she seldom saw as of late.

"Then I guess I'll have to shatter that fucked up illusion. I refuse to be dragged into Hell again. I don't care if it's a Ma- one of them. Whatever it is, I'll shatter it. You're here, and you'll always be my side, I know it. As long as that's a constant, I'll use Imagine Breaker to shatter every last illusion that tries to prevent us from finding peace."

"I will never leave you, Kamijou Touma. Our bond goes beyond this world. We were bound in a way beyond flesh from the day we met," Misaki said, trying to reassure her husband as best she could.

Misaki stood on her toes and tried her best to look into her husband's eyes. Her starry pupils peered through Touma's physical body and into his soul, into his giant beating heart of gold.

"I will never leave you. Do you I make myself crystal clear? I will NEVER leave you. We will face every last challenge, every one of 'them' together, should they show rear their heads in our direction. Nothing in this world, or any other, could convince me to leave you. That is one thing you need not worry about. This ring will NEVER leave my finger."

"I hope everything's alright with them," Mikoto said. She, Kuroko and Motoharu had stopped some twenty or so feet away. "I wish they'd get on with it," Motoharu grumbled impatiently. "Not enough time for this, ya know?"

The trio saw the couple begin making haste to reform their group. Mikoto smiled weakly. "They're holding hands, so I guess nothing bad is happening," Mikoto assumed aloud. "Onee-Sama, you're adorable. Let's follow their lead." Kuroko reached for Mikoto's hand, but Mikoto quickly pulled away, blushing. "K... Kuroko! Hold on! Not so sudden! At least let me know you're going to try something!"

"What does this make me? The third wheel? Let's hurry this up; we have things to do."

The band of five eventually reached what appeared to be a simple park; one of the few in School District 15. Four wooden benches sat around a small birdbath, though no birds appeared to be using it. The park itself was at the end of a field, surrounded mostly by small trees. High above the trees, the shops and mass communication centers of the district stood tall, a constant reminder that points of nature like this one were far and few between in the City of Science.

Motoharu, as quickly as he could, went over the same points he went over with Mikoto and Kuroko with Misaki and Touma. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy at the horrified looks on Misaki's face when he brought up the gruesome effects of GROWTH.

"I have always known Academy City has its dark spots. All one has to do is look in the right place at the right time to catch glimpses; but this, this is sickening. Such a thing should have been discontinued as soon as its side effects were discovered," Misaki said, quite shaken. Touma said nothing. He was simply listening, his face showing his focus.

"Right," Motoharu replied. "I already gave my thoughts to Misaka-san and Shirai-san, but I'll give them to you, as well. I know what you're thinking, Mrs. Kamijou - If the Spymaster of Necessarius is willing to involve himself in a Science Side event, it's got to be for a good reason. Let this sink in: my theory is, when the fucked up individual responsible for this experiment discovered the side effects of GROWTH, he not only allowed, but tweaked them to become the primary side effect. It became their plan, ya know? I have a feeling this individual is planning on trying to overthrow the Board of Directors. Maybe they want Academy City for their own. Maybe they're a Magic Side intruder with advanced knowledge of Science and they want Academy City to serve as a beacon of Magic for whatever reason. I can't say for sure what their motives are right at this moment, but I can say nothing good can come of letting this continue."

Touma took some air into his lungs before he stood up. He clenched his right hand into a fist and placed it into his open left hand, generating a 'smack' in the silent atmosphere.

"We should move, then. Who knows how close this person is to achieving their goals? Motoharu, you said this thing is moving around mostly in district ten? Do you have any idea if we can find where it's coming from?" Touma asked.

"Kami-yan's taking charge! Hah!" Motoharu exclaimed, standing up as well, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, an enormous grin on his face. "I do. I have some idea. It's not the main distribution center, but it's one of the bigger ones. Bringing business to a grinding halt would definitely hurt the person responsible. That might sound hard, but that's where your lady comes in, Kami-yan."

Touma didn't immediately protest, but crossed his arms across his chest.

"Don't worry yourself into a panic. All I need is for the Missus to move the workers out of the building they've set up shop in with her ability, so we can do our work. The people working in there are criminals, technically, yes; but they're not like the people running this thing. I doubt they even know what they're really a part of, ya know?"

"I am not sure if I like the idea of doing that. I try to use my ability sparingly, and only in situations where no other alternative can be found," Misaki said.

"Well, Mrs. Kamijou, we could march into the distribution center and demand everyone who isn't a deranged maniac leave the building in a single file line," Motoharu sneered. "In all seriousness, you'll be doing them a favor. You won't be editing their minds or erasing their memories – just moving them out of harm's way."

Misaki looked from person to person. Touma nodded at her, as if to say, "do what you think is right". The two knew one another's body language so well by this point, words weren't even necessary. Mikoto gave a shrug. "Tsuchimikado-san is right. They could get caught in the crossfire if fighting breaks out in there. They're part of illegal drug trafficking, but they don't deserve to die because of it."

"Shirai-san?" Misaki asked. "Do you have an opinion? I find myself conflicted, and I would appreciate anything you could offer very much."

"I could teleport as many people as I could in and out of the building," Kuroko suggested. "But I can only take two people at once through the eleventh dimension. Who knows how many people they've working there?"

"I have decided," Misaki announced. "I will use my ability. I will steer as many workers as I can from the distribution center. But that is ALL I will do."

"Great," Motoharu said, removing his hands from his pockets and putting them behind his head, "Shirai-san, if you could get us to district ten, I'll give you all the grand tour."

By the time Kuroko had finished teleporting her friends all the way to District 10, she was feeling drained; she hadn't taken this many people through the eleventh dimension with her this often in some time. She could see Misaki gasping at the destruction and urban decay around them.

"The unsafe districts are worse than I remember, wow..." Mikoto commented. She was no stranger to this sort of thing: too often she had been involved in Academy City's darkness. But she never really got used to seeing districts like this.

"I think I have an idea of where we're going," Motoharu interrupted the group's observations. "Look. I don't think we're the only ones looking for this place. We practically have a trail of destruction to follow."

Indeed, reluctantly, the party followed the 'trail'. While all of the roads leading every which way in district ten were damaged to some extent or another, the 'trail' was beyond just damaged. Bullet holes had carved a macabre path for them to follow. Spent shells were littering every surface.

At first, Touma was willing to write it off as a coincidence. "In a place like this, gunfights must occur almost daily," he figured. "Following what Tsuchimikado thinks is a 'trail' is just dumb."

His thoughts changed drastically when they encountered the bleeding, damaged men and women in the street.

The 'trail' went dead for a while. Bullet holes were present, yes, but they didn't appear to be following anything like the 'trail' had been. It was much more erratic. Like people had just been spraying bullets at one another without expecting to actually gun anyone down.

Misaki half-stifled a scream when she saw them. Touma felt his stomach turn upside down and twist inside of him. "Wha..." Mikoto began, but she said nothing more.

"What the fuck even happened here? Who did this?" Motoharu asked no one in particular. "Looks like a gang-related event gone sour, probably a drug deal. Nice."

The Backstabbing Blade approached one of the wounded men. Leaning down, Motoharu moved the man's armguard up and checked for a pulse. To his surprise, one was present; weak, to be certain, but present.

"Heh," the dying gang member spat. "You got here just in time. Keep going. You'll see them. That fucking robot and his little girl."

"He's delirious, blood loss seems to be kicking in," Motoharu diagnosed. "I'll jus-"

"Delirious? N, nah. There was a robot; a tall robot. My boys and I shot at the thing, must have dumped enough rounds into it to kill a hundred men. I don't know if we hurt it or not, b, but, it left us here to die. And that little girl it had with it. Him. It looked like a him. S, she wasn't taking any damage, either. Entire clips worth of bullets just bounced off her. Fucking monsters. Ask any one of my boys who aren't dead; they'll tell you the same thing."

Touma leaned into Misaki's ear and whispered, "That makes me think of Kinuhata. It sounds like her Offense Armor ability. What would that mean? You think ITEM could be active out here? Even without Hamazura and Takitsubo, they could've reformed."

Misaki struggled for words. She was having a hard time comprehending everything around her; these dying men, the ruined streets and collapsing buildings, this talk of robots. She had seen robots before, of course – cleaning robots regularly patrolled the streets of Academy City, trying their best to keep the streets free of litter.

But cleaning robots couldn't do this.

Misaki pondered the possibility of Academy City combat robots running wild in the streets, cleaning up unsafe districts; she had heard of, but had never seen the City's fabled mechanized military that replaced most of Anti Skill in the safe districts. They were used for dealing with threats that were beyond Anti Skill, which were few and far between in the safe districts.

"I... I don't know, Touma." She stammered. "This is a lot for me to process at once. I'm sorry, but I do not know what to tell you." Her husband put a protective arm around her shoulders. "Don't forget that Misaka has the ability to use magnetism. Bullets would have a hard time getting past her." Touma could tell Misaki was scared – that was only natural. She hadn't seen the unsafe districts before. Misaki was beyond capable, but her ability and the extensive self-defense training he had taught her would do very little against an oncoming bullet. Touma hadn't seen these unsafe districts before either, but his decade long experience with death and destruction, and most importantly, misfortune had mentally prepared him for something like this. Or maybe he was just scarred to the point of no return.

"Let's move 'em on out, huh? We still have work to do," Motoharu reminded the group. "Misaka-san, try to be on the lookout for sharpshooters. Stop their bullets." Apparently, Motoharu had heard Misaki and Touma's previous exchange.

"Right!" Mikoto said. "My ears are... open? I'll stop anything like that before it has the chance to even get near anyone. Promise!"

"Time to go home friends; that's it, shift's over." Devastator called out as it emerged into the room full of workers proper. "You're all being put on indefinite leave without pay. Forward my Email."

The metallic voice of the machine called the attention of the workers. Those who looked up from their work were sent into a flurry of panic, their faces contorting in fear as they screamed. The moment the workers laid eyes on Devastator, all Hell broke loose. Men and women of all shapes and sizes began running from their seats, frantically looking for the nearest exit that didn't require running past the terrifying machine, some bumping into and trampling each other. Screams, shouts and wails filled the lowest section of the apartment complex.

"You're hurting my confidence, am I not pretty?" the machine stated with little concern. "Let's all settle down. We can talk. How does that sound?" Devastator's words fell on deaf ears, unsurprisingly.

"What should we super do?" Saiai asked. "They're freaking out!"

A piercing sound blared from the corners of the room suddenly, perhaps as a reaction to the chaotic scene, causing Saiai to grasp at her ears in a attempt to block it out. A tinny, crackling voice came through.

"Um, if you could all return to your duties... if you don't, I'm going to have to kill you all and, um... hire a new batch of workers! Sit down!"

When the chaos failed to subside, the same voice practically screamed,

"Sit down and get the FUCK BACK TO WORK! Hah, that sounded pretty Kihara-like. I'll show them I'm fit to run this facil- oh, I forgot to turn it off. Um, ignore this. AND GET BACK TO WOOORRRKKKK!"

"Who was super talking there? They have speaker systems and everything set up down here? This place has power?!" Saiai questioned. "Hey! Where are you going! You can't super leave me down here!"

Devastator stopped in its tracks and turned its head to one side. "Deal with this. Get these workers to safety, or you'll answer to me. I have to make a visit. I'll return very soon."

Enshuu Kihara kicked her legs back and forth beneath her desk on the fifth floor of the apartment complex. She didn't enjoy her job here. She didn't have to do any work outside of disciplining the workers when they became rowdy or tried to take too many breaks, but that was exactly the problem – it was too boring. "Maybe if I do well with this operation, Gunpei-Sama will think of me as a real Kihara. I hope so. Then I can work on something more dignified."

She wore a short sleeved navy blue shirt, a pair of tights to match, and small black canvas shoes that matched her charcoal-colored hair. Two long ponytails fell from the top of her head and down the back of her neck. Her big blue eyes looked intently at the news article she was reading on her phone, which was also blaring incredibly loud and incredibly obnoxious pop music over surround sound speakers she had set up in the ruined apartment she was working out of – it wasn't like the Kihara-to-be had anything better to do.

That changed suddenly when the door to her sanctuary came crashing down. Enshuu couldn't hear it over the sound of her music, but she definitely saw the armed guard go flying halfway across the room.

"Who's throwing my men around? Umm, if you don't stop, I'm going to kill you!" Enshuu exclaimed. She turned off her speaker system and rose from her swivel chair. She raised her fists to her face and hopped around the room, searching for the unseen invader.

Crossing from what might have been the kitchen area of the apartment where her desk was set up and into what was big enough to have been a living room, she encountered the invader. It was something she hadn't seen in almost a decade. Tall, dark silver, covered in dents and missing what looked like armored plates on the left side of its face and on its right arm, Enshuu backed away at first.

"De, Devastator-oniichan?!" She cried.

"If I were your brother, I would have myself euthanized."

"You think you can get away with talking to a Kihara like that?!" Enshuu demanded. "If I get rid of you, Gunpei-Sama will HAVE to make me a real Kihara! Not that I'm a fake, or anything!"

Enshuu extended her hand; now, she would truly get to test the extent of her adapted version of the Mental Out ability.

"Throw yourself off that balcony behind us! Go right through the glass and kill yourself! Umm, now!" She said.

Devastator didn't move.

Of course he didn't; Mental Out, even Enshuu's specially adapted variation, couldn't work on a machine. It didn't have a real brain to control the chemicals and blood flow of. "What are you, a halfwit?! Get with it, Kihara Enshuu!"

"Don't bother trying to get inside my head," Devastator commented.

"Stupid Devastator-oniichan! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!"

Devastator took off, charging shoulder-first towards the small Kihara-to-be.


	7. A Certain Uncertain Meeting

Misaki produced her remote from the purse slung over her shoulder. She was preparing herself to scan through the various consciousnesses scattered through the run-down structure she found herself standing in front of.

"I am only moving them to a safer location; I am not tampering with their minds in any way, shape or form. There is nothing wrong with what I am doing," the young woman repeated this statement inside of her own mind again and again like a mantra. But she felt like there was something terribly wrong with what she was doing. These were people, not pawns on a game board.

Before she met Kamijou Touma, and even for some time after, Misaki had tampered with the minds of and controlled just about anyone; but after she fell head over heels for the compassionate and sensitive boy turned man, his ideals and beliefs had rubbed off on her. She didn't become her husband – Misaki fiercely stood by her own ideals, but the idea of manipulating peoples' minds without sufficient reason being wrong was one of the many lessons she had learned from Touma.

As her finger hovered hesitantly over one of the various buttons on her remote that would act as a focus for her Mental Out ability, what sounded like glass being broken interrupted the silence. Misaki surfaced from the pool of reflection that had swallowed her, starry eyes focusing on the world before her. The source of the window's destruction became evident to her as it flew from the fifth floor of the apartment complex and hit the broken asphalt, sparks flying from what looked like limbs as momentum kept it rolling for a short time following its emergence.

"W, what is it?" Mikoto spoke in a nervous tone. "It almost looks like a person…"

Kuroko took a stand, producing two long, sharp and thin dagger-like weapons from beneath her sundress. They looked even deadlier than the pegs she had used to pin criminals during her time in Judgement, likely supplied by Anti Skill based on her established technique.

"Anti Skill! Hold it right there!" the Teleporter exclaimed, vanishing for a split second before appearing on top of the fallen 'thing'.

"You think I'm your enemy. If that were the case, you'd already be dead. I come falling out of a window, hit the ground – fairly hard, I must say – and the first thing you try to do is arrest me? I'm sensing hostility for no reason," a metallic, anything but human voice responded. "This person, or thing, whatever it is, talks?" Kuroko demanded aloud, backing away slightly and stumbling over the thing's outstretched limbs.

Slowly, methodically, the 'thing' pushed itself up, using its damaged arms to struggle to its feet. Its body produced an eerie electronic hum as it stood erect. Kuroko backed away even more as it came to life before her and her friends' eyes. Certain parts of its body, including its shoulders and portions of its upper and lower back glowed yellow. Misaki, Touma and Motoharu got a better view; they were able to see its damaged face, revealing dutifully functioning inner workings and its eyes, which glowed the same shade of yellow.

Misaki, without hesitation, pressed a button – the closest button to her thumb – on her remote. She suddenly knew multiple minds at once. Her husband's, which was struggling between flight and fight, Motoharu's, which was scrutinizing every aspect of this foreign existence, and Kuroko's, whose thoughts had been clouded by anxiety. She felt her Mental Out 'bounce' off of Mikoto's Electro Barrier, which didn't surprise her.

But she didn't feel any sort of 'bounce back' when she tried to enter the mind of the monstrosity standing before the group. There was nothing. She didn't enter a consciousness, but she wasn't 'bounced off of' one. That meant there was only one explanation;

"I believed some unknown party had placed a human's brain within a robotic body – such a thing would be far from new for this evil-minded City. But," Misaki's words hung.

"You can't look in. You're terrified because you can't trespass inside my head and grab at my thoughts. It's an advantage you've relied on throughout the duration of your young life, and now you've been deprived of that advantage. You're feeling powerless, aren't you? I was just dealing with another one of you before I made a bit of a mistake," the abomination responded. "I'm not flesh and blood. I'm stronger than flesh and blood can ever be. Since this end of town isn't the kind of place where irate and confused bystanders tend to wander, I have one question – are you with me, or against me?"

"I don't think anyone has to answer your questions. What are you, even? What are YOUR intentions?" Touma demanded fiercely, slowly walking towards the mechanical monster, Imagine Breaker at the ready.

"Hold it right there, Master Detective. Does this look like a Q&A panel to you? You could be mercenary espers allied with the primates responsible for turning half of this City from a place you wouldn't want to walk through into a place you CAN'T walk through."

"We're not with these GROWTH distributors, if that's what you're asking for. My associates and I – and I won't say any names – are trying to put an end to the GROWTH epidemic," Motoharu butted in, his voice frighteningly serious. "I have reason to believe you're an empty machine, programmed to lure people like me into a false sense of security."

"You think I'm a hollow shell? You think I'm a slave, a puppet dangling from the fingers of some greater power?" The monster responded. "At one time, you would have been correct. I shattered the chains of my slave masters some time ago. I like what you're doing, by the way – reverse psychology."

Motoharu flashed a humorless grin.

"Well, you're not dead yet, are you? If I were, as you imply, a hollow shell designed to lull the unfortunate to their deaths, wouldn't I have struck by now?"

"Predators are intelligent. Too intelligent to strike without ensuring sure their prey is at a total disadvantage. There's more of us than there's more of you, but you're capable of more than you let on, aren't you?"

The machine closed the distance between itself and Touma, knocking Motoharu out of the way with its shoulder. "You're interesting. You were the first to open your mouth and address me directly. Whereas most human's fight or flight instincts would have demanded they flee and never look back, you took the courageous route. The heroic route,"

With every step, its body hummed. As the humming grew closer, Touma didn't budge an inch, nor did he take his eyes off of the mechanical monstrosity.

"Do you know what happens to heroes? Have you given a thought to this? Heroes perish fighting against villains. Heroes can only save the day for so long before they become a tale of caution."

Mikoto reached into the back pocket of her shorts and produced a large, metallic object. Kuroko, who had been silently observing the altercation, teleported to Mikoto's side, daggers in hand. "You won't face this foe alone, Onee-Sama."

"Misaka-san, Shirai-san, with all due respect – please allow Touma and I to deal with this."

Misaki began hastily stuffing her remote into her purse. "You won't harm my husband. You won't lay a single one of your metallic digits upon him. I will never allow it." With quick, efficient steps, one foot after the other, focused utterly on the threat to her sunshine's life, Misaki approached the robotic abomination that stood heads taller than her. Raising her fists, Misaki prepared herself. If she had to swing on this machine until her knuckles broke and her fingers bled, she would. If it knocked her away and broke her ribs, she would rise up to continue fighting. Misaki would do anything to protect her soul mate.

Saiai stepped into the chaotic scene presented before her, confident in her Offense Armor.

"Listen up! You're super all going to die if you don't come with me!"

None paid her any mind; like ants whose hill had been disturbed by an invading human, the workers were still mindlessly panicking. Some had taken to demanding those that had been previously overseeing their work to help them escape; they were given only vicious beatings and demands to return to work in response. Now painfully irritated, the petite esper had just about enough of being ignored. Saiai grabbed a vacant table with her ability and tossed it over the heads of the workers. It soared just below the basement's ceiling, almost crashing against it before it finally made contact with the farthest wall in the large, square room.

It certainly got attention, but not the attention Saiai had been looking for.

One of the individuals who had been acting as an overseer swiftly approached. He was an older man of average height and below average build; he had no visible muscles to speak of, his arms hung limp at his side, and his hands were too big for his body. He had receding black hair with hints of silver and the wrinkled face of one who had just about enough of life. His choice of attire was poor, at best – ripped blue jeans with a dirty, torn denim jacket. The jacket was open, revealing a black tank top that hung loosely from his torso. "I was hoping you'd just leave, and that we could get these animals back in line. I guess not! You just have to try and be a hero!"

"A hero?! If I weren't being paid lots and lots of yen to be get them out of here, I'd super just kill them all myself!"

The worn-out looking elder reached into his jacket pocket – his hand re-emerged holding what appeared to be a revolver. With surprising skill, he swiftly took aim, pulled the trigger, and fired – all without even a second of hesitation.

His eyes widened as the bullet, which should have pierced the young woman's forehead and killed her instantly hit her body and was reflected by some invisible force.

"I super love you people! The dumb look on you guys make when you realize your stupid guns don't work on me! You're in the City of Science! You should be packing a little more than guns!" Saiai felt the thrill of battle take over her. Offense Armor's protection came with a price – destabilization of her personality.

The stone cold killer took a step back, but he quickly regained his senses. This one wasn't like the other thugs Saiai had faced on her way here – he was trained; his returned composure was a testament to that. "Maybe he's super even a mercenary? Doesn't matter; he's gonna die," thoughts of violence swirled in the petite esper's head.

The grim-faced man took another route – he began to inch towards Saiai, his fists held just beyond his face. He licked his cracked, bloody lips as he stepped closer and closer.

He swung, his oversized fist crashing down towards Saiai like a boulder tossed by a giant.

Saiai's skin was exposed to what felt like a light, gentle tap as the man's arm was forced back by her Offense Armor.

Onlookers, made up of enthralled workers who had never seen anyone in their line of work so much as raise their voice towards their respective overseers had gathered around in a sort of semicircle around the scene. Desperate overseers tried to rip them from their gathering, but they were met with violent and open rebellion.

"We've attracted an audience! Now it's super my turn!"

The petite esper sprung into action, her own small fists at the ready. The grim-faced man prepared a blocking manoeuvre rather than trying to flee or calling for help – he held his arms up, his open hands blocking his face. It did very little; Saiai grabbed one of the grim-faced man's forearms and, with little effort, forced the entire extremity backwards to the point of snapping. The grim-faced man's face contorted as an anything but manly shriek was ripped from his throat. It was deafeningly loud.

Saiai revelled for a moment in her victory. Victoriously, she placed a foot on the man's chest, she bent over and looked into the man's eyes. Even now, with his arm broken, facing an enemy he couldn't touch, there was no fear in his eyes. His teeth were bared in a snarl.

"Finish it."

Saiai raised an eyebrow. "You super want to die?"

The man chuckled momentarily before he broke down into a short-lived coughing fit. Taking a breath and clearing his throat, he winced before he responded.

"You win. You broke my goddamn arm and put me on the ground. I couldn't so much as hit you. What use am I to anyone if I can have my ass kicked so badly in such a short time? Just twist my neck. If you turn it one way enough, everything just goes black."

The chaos continued around them – Saiai paid no attention. None of the overseers had come to their companion's aid, and they gave her no reason to go out of her way to break them. They seemed to be level zeroes, as they didn't use any sort of powers to combat their unruly subordinates – just blunt objects and threats.

Saiai contemplated. "Why am I having second thoughts? This loser is super asking for it. Nobody's going to miss him; not that it matters!" She exclaimed internally. The petite esper placed her foot back down on the cold concrete floor.

Without hesitation, she placed her hands around the grim-faced man's neck.

"Go on. You'll be doing me a favor. Moms said I wouldn't amount to shit, and I guess she was right. Didn't know my pops. Guess he knew better than to stick around, huh? You know what they say about the 'bad seed', sweetheart?"

"Super shut up," Saiai practically growled. "You sound super pathetic. Your shitty situation is your own fault, 'kay? You don't need people to support you to do something, anything with yourself. You chose this life, and now you're super paying the price." Saiai was taken aback slightly at her own words. "I sound like that dumb Kamijou. Preaching to this loser…"

"Heh. Never thought I'd be lectured by a little girl," the grim-faced man laughed, his face betraying the pain caused by his damaged limb.

To his surprise, Saiai removed her hands from his neck. Even more to his surprise, she extended her hand. She didn't look the grim-faced man in the eyes. The chaotic fighting raging around them was, for the moment, completely ignored by both parties.

"Super grab my hand. Get up and leave, I'm not going to kill you. I don't know what's up with me right now, but I guess you just super caught me in a good mood. I should just super kill you, but I, I dunno."

"You going to break my other arm? Hah, I can't really trust you, now, can I?" Contrary to his statement, the grim-faced man reached to Saiai's hand with his own functioning one. Saiai pulled him to his feet with an Offense Armor assisted flick of her wrist.

The sound of footsteps echoing from the staircase just behind the combatants rang in their ears, even over the sounds of the sudden rebellion. "Armed guards with high-powered sniper rifles," Saiai commented. "They'll kill us both. Their weapons are super strong enough to pierce through my ability. As you might know, there's super not a lot that can."

The grim-faced man simply chuckled, shaking his head from side to side in a slow, methodic motion.

"And I still have five rounds left in my piece. Never fucking liked these assholes, to be honest. Let's see how many I can take out 'fore they turn me into Swiss cheese, hah?"

The guards entered the basement, their weapons pointed directly at Saiai and the grim-faced man. "Halt! Hands up!" The guard at the front exclaimed, jabbing the silenced barrel of her weapon at the air for added effect.

Bang.

She fell backwards, smoke flowing from the grim-faced man's drawn revolver. In mere seconds, he had shot her dead.

Bang.

Before anyone could so much as react, he turned his weapon on another guard; a stream of blood flowed out from the wound in his forehead as he fell backwards from the force of the bullet penetrating his skull.

Instincts taking over, the armed guards pumped round after round into the grim-faced man. His body was blown backwards like a piece of paper in the wind from the force hitting him point blank in the chest. There was an enormous, toothy grin plastered on his face as he fell backwards.

In their shock, the armed guards had neglected to notice that Saiai had picked up an abandoned table up in either hand, her Offense Armor allowing her to 'dual wield' the pieces of furniture. "Did you idiots super not pay attention in class? Did you even super go to school? Always pay attention to your surroundings."

Saiai closed the distance between herself and the firearm-wielding guards before she succeeded in swatting them away like pieces of trash with her tables turned weapons; steel and thick wood sent the petite esper's flying, hitting walls and smashing their heads on the ceiling. "Nothing feels wrong about this. What super happened to me back there? What was different with that weird man than with these people? They both threatened me," Saiai mused as she tossed the tables aside; those who had opposed her were battered and broken.

The sounds of fighting had died down. The rebellious workers had won their fight – their former taskmasters were beaten, most of them lying in pools of their own blood and bodily waste material.

The petite esper sighed. Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "Super come with me. If more guards come down here, you're all as good as dead."

Touma and Misaki had gotten as close as possible to the mechanical monstrosity before them. Seeing it up close just sent even more shivers down Touma's spine. It looked, wrong. Misaki stood defiantly before the thing, her arms crossed beneath her bosom. Touma wanted to scream at her – tell her to run and not to look back. If it were anyone else, he would have. But he knew that look on his wife's face – that "don't fuck with me" look.

"Alright, super go through this, uh, thing where a door used to be! Go! Run! I would've just killed you all, but ro-man promised me a LOT of yen to make sure you all get out safely!" People of all shapes and sizes and of all walks of life, from who appeared to have been recently relieved of their homelessness to those who looked like average blue color workers found throughout Academy City rushed out in droves from apartment complex, the petite Saiai Kinuhata acting as a shepherd. "Scram! Super get to a safe district so I can make money!"

"Kinuhata?!" Mikoto, Kuroko, Touma and Misaki questioned aloud at once. Motoharu just cocked his head to one side in confusion.

"You?! What are you super doing here? And ro-man?! Why did you abandon me down there?! If it weren't for my ability, I'd super be dead!" Saiai raged. "I'm going to super beat you until your screws fall out!"

"Things happen, Kinuhata Saiai; why don't you help me explain the situation to these good people? De-escalation of tension is key, here. In addition, I already asked you to refer to me as my originally designated name."

Saiai rubbed her temples with her little hands in annoyance. "You'd super be nowhere without me, "Devastator". I think you just like it when I super say your name, or something. Wow, creepy."

The petite Offense Armor user got between the machine and the espers, the magician and the level zero. Though she was small, she was a domineering presence. When Saiai Kinuhata entered any situation, she demanded respect and attention. Perhaps it had rubbed off on her from a close friend. "Figures Kamijou would super try and play the hero. I'm surprised you aren't best friends already; ro-man here is a hero, too. He's dumb, but he hasn't killed anyone, so you don't HAVE to punch him. I'd encourage you to, though."

"Why were you walking towards me like that, then?" Touma asked, not letting his guard down in the slightest. He didn't trust ITEM in the slightest; Shiage and Rikou Hamazura were good, honest people, but those circumstances were different. They had removed themselves from the darkness and found their own ray of light. Kinuhata and Mugino were still likely up to no good. "Kinuhata could easily be working with this thing," he thought. "I'll shatter both of their fucked up illusions if I have to."

"I've found that humans respond better to conversation when they're approached; especially when words and phrases are audibly delivered mere inches from their faces," Devastator responded before it took yet another step, rocks and debris crunching and breaking beneath its weight. "That was sarcasm."

"I super got all the people you didn't want me to kill out of their, ro-man," Saiai interrupted. "Can we kill the rest now? I super want to beat some people up."

Motoharu sighed suddenly.

"So. Our little visit to this distribution center was utterly pointless, then. We didn't even have to come to this center."

Touma shot the Backstabbing Blade a hateful glare; if looks could kill, Motoharu likely would've dropped dead from cardiac arrest right there and then.

"How was I supposed to guess a killer robot and a Dark Side mercenary were already dealing with the problem here? I don't just KNOW these things, Kami-yan. I might be the Spymaster, but I'm not omniscient!"

Touma thought about punching Motoharu as hard as he could, right smack in the face. He envisioned it; that idiot flying backwards from the sheer force of his blow and hitting the ground with a satisfying "thud". His mind and body screamed at him to shatter the Backstabbing Blade's illusions. But he remembered his wife's words, one of the few things she asked of him, a ridiculously reasonable request. "Misaki asked me not to be violent. If I can ask Misaki not to control people without good reason, I can only use violence as a last resort. I'm not going to be a stupid hypocrite," Kamijou Touma took deep breaths, calming himself down.

Touma took a step back. "Listen, uh, Devastator, was it? I don't know who or what you're supposed to be. But I don't want to fight with you. Can we settle this peacefully?"

The machine turned its head towards Touma, its glowing yellow eyes locking with Touma's.

"Momentarily."

It turned its back on the group and broke into a run towards the apartment complex. It bent its legs and jumped to the first of the third story balconies, then jumped to one of the fifth story balconies. It pulled itself up and over the balcony's railing and disappeared into the broken glass doors.

Devastator scanned the room, its eyes moving around quickly inside of its head. There was no sign of Kihara Enshuu. Its quarry had escaped its grasp.

It was almost embarrassing how the whole thing played out.

Devastator had charged without thinking – it let blind anger, or the faux synthetic version of anger an artificial intelligence was capable of feeling take control. Kihara Enshuu had danced to one side, completing avoiding the machine, who crashed through the oncoming window. If the circumstances of Devastator's 'sentience' were any different, it would have sworn that Enshuu's Mental Out variation had, indeed worked on it on some subconscious level.

But Devastator wasn't done in this ruined building. No, there was something of great importance that was more than likely still here. Kihara Enshuu would have had very little reason to take that.

It rooted through apartment after ruined apartment, making sure to thoroughly inspect each of them. Moving from the fifth floor all the way to the second by stomping holes in the damaged, barely stable floors, Devastator eventually came across what it had come to this forsaken place for in the first place – it was stuffed under a filthy ruined bed. About the size of the average person's head, it was a metal safe.

"You think you've outwitted me, Kihara pup? By the look of this safe, I'm the outwitter here. If your superiors don't crucify you for your idiocy, I will," it said to no one except perhaps itself.

As gently as a machine designed solely to maim and kill could, it shook the safe in its hands. What sounded like multiple objects rattled inside, clinking and clanking against the metal interior of the safe. If Devastator had a human heart, it would be pounding with anticipation.

It heard shooting and shouts of alarm and challenge from the floor below. For the moment, it would not pay any mind to it. Devastator has one path in sight – to bring itself one step closer to its ultimate goal.

Placing its fingers between the small groove separating the safe's hatch and the outer shell of the safe itself, the machine pulled viciously. At first, the safe succeeded in keeping Devastator from its prize; but it couldn't keep it out forever. The thick metal hatch was torn away and tossed aside, hitting the nearby wall and falling to the damp carpeted floor.

In its hands, Devastator held two small metallic cards.

Mikoto was stopping the hail of high-powered sniper rifle and combat rifle rounds descending on her and her friends, as well as the Dark Side mercenary for some reason with her manipulation of magnetism. She wanted to take a second to unleash as much lightning as she could upon their attackers, but that would mean letting the hail of gunfire through.

"How are you holding up, Misaka-san?" Misaki struggled to shout over the sounds of the relentless attack. She, Touma and Motoharu had been periodically checking the areas around them to ensure they wouldn't be flanked from any other direction.

"I can keep this up for a very long time, d-don't worry!" Mikoto yelled back. "I-it's a matter of waiting until their ammo runs dry, I guess! They have to run out at some point, RIGHT?!"

Misaki groaned impatiently, but no one could hear it. "Why won't these dimwits cease this senselessness already? Misaka-san is not letting them through. Not a single round has gotten past her. I would admire their determination if I did not despise them so," she mused. At the very least, Misaki could hear herself think.

Before Misaki could continue to internally curse these peoples' existence, the first scream rang out. What looked like a singular beam of orange-colored light pierced the torso of one of their attackers; it moved to the side as it cut from one end of the man's waist to the other, slicing him in half. The rest followed, each being brutally and quickly dissected by the light.

"Tootaloo."

Devastator's metallic, monotonous voice came as the machine stepped out from the front door of the apartment complex, stepping over torn humans like they were little more than dirt.

"R-ro-man!" Saiai stammered. "W-why didn't you super do that earlier? That would have saved us SO much time! Dumb creepy robot!"

Everyone, even the usually reserved and uninterested Motoharu gave Saiai a look of unease. What they had just seen disturbed them all to some degree or another. What kind of a person WOULDN'T be disturbed at the sight of that?

"Abilities that were locked behind the drivers I took back from those who stole them from me. The only reason I would have ever visited this love shack. I believe I already explained my reasoning to you on our way here," Devastator responded. It didn't seem overly interested in the fact that it had just moments ago ripped apart five people. "We're finished here, Kinuhata Saiai."

The mechanical monstrosity then turned its attention to Touma. "I'm afraid our chat will have to wait; my nefarious plan – which doesn't actually involve world domination, surprising, I know - isn't just going to accomplish itself."

"I don't think I want to talk to something like you, anyways." Touma retorted. "Those were people. With lives and feelings. Just because they were villains, just because these people are trying to hurt others, that doesn't mean they deserve to be butchered like that!"

"If these were good people who were doing bad things," Devastator began, "that would be different. These are not good people. These are barely people." It pointed to the mess behind it. "They're animals. You slaughter animals for consumption. It keeps your bodies stocked with nutrition and helps control their populations. While my body requires no nutrition, I slaughter animals to control their populations, as well. Let these beasts run wild, and they'll overtake everything. Far too many of them – they needed to be… culled."

"I'll shatter that fucked up illusion of yours!" Touma screamed; one second, he was breaking into a sprint, Imagine Breaker's impact inevitable. The next, his world spun around him; he was on his back, clutching his stomach in pain. The machine had struck him down with a single glancing blow. It lowered the arm it had used to backhand Touma.

"See? You are a good person doing a bad thing. You don't deserve to die. You're acting on positive ideals. You have a soul; you aren't a beast without thought. I know exactly what you're trying to do. You think everyone deserves to be saved. Some people can't be saved. Some humans must die. This is the reality we must face – that leaves us with one option; face it, or join those who have turned a blind eye to the truth. Heroes walk a dangerous and lonely road."

It looked to Misaki, and then back to Touma.

"You don't want to create another grieving widow, do you? Too many as it stands already."

Devastator turned its back to the Imagine Breaker's host. With that, it began to walk away.

"Wait up, ro-man!" Saiai yelled. "Don't try and get out of paying me!"

"Come, then, Kinuhata Saiai; you'll have your precious paper soon enough."

Touma could only look on as Dark Side mercenary and that monster left he and his group behind. Once the two had left his line of sight completely, he noticed his body was shaking. Not just slightly – he could see his legs trembling beneath him. Instantly, Misaki had taken to his side, his shaking left hand clasped tightly in between hers. It felt good; he had his beacon.

Touma had seen terrible things, awful things, he had seen World after World that had mentally broken him when that monster Othinus tried – and succeeded – in breaking his spirit. He felt little difference here than he did in the final World, the Omega World – the World that was paradise for all but him. This Devastator monstrosity hadn't hurt him or anyone he loved – but seeing what it was capable of doing without a single ounce of remorse made his brain hurt.

"Touma? Are you alr… of course you're not alright. None of us are. Not after seeing that. It would be foolish of me to even ask."

"S-Shirai-san?" Touma asked, turning his ghostly pale face to his friend.

"What do you need, Kamijou-san?" Kuroko asked, approaching quickly. "He looks like he's about to faint. Poor Kamijou-san," the teleporter thought anxiously, her pulse quickening.

"You've been teleporting us around all day, and I-I know it's strenuous. I hate myself for asking, but could you get us out of here? I-I… I don't think I can stay here much longer."

"D-don't feel bad, Kamijou-san! I've had enough of a break from using my ability! It won't strain me at all!" Kuroko lied. "Anywhere specific you want to go? I can't go everywhere in Academy City, but I can go anywhere I can see in my mind."

"Anywhere but here," Touma answered, the words practically falling out of his mouth.

Kuroko quickly gripped Touma left hand and Misaki's closest available hand. She vanished before returning empty-handed a few moments later.

"Onee-Sama? Tsuchimikado-san? Do you want to leave, too?" Kuroko seemed drained, but was trying (and failing) to hide it. "Depends; Biribiri-sama, you think you could hold off more bullets?" Motoharu asked as he casually put his hands in his pockets. "STOP calling me that!" Mikoto demanded. "Yes, I can. I-I mean it's not difficult! But d-do you really want to walk through this dump to get to a safer district?!" The electromaster asked, her tone shaky from nervousness. It had been a long time since she had seen Touma like that, and it almost killed her on the inside. She decided to try and put on a poker face – someone needed to maintain a sense of stability here.

"Well, since we lost Kami-yan and the Missus, we can't get into much else tonight. First things first, though," Motoharu said with a smirk. From his shorts pocket, he produced a box of matches. "GROWTH is pretty flammable, as we've discovered. The complex itself won't burn all the way to the ground – but the GROWTH inside will make a pretty big, pretty impressive BOOM or two!"

"Oooooor," Mikoto said, crossing her arms. "You can leave the GROWTH to me!"

"Honestly? I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner, Biribiri-sama. Knock yourself out."

"Stop calling me thaaaaat! DUMBASS!" Mikoto roared in disgust, electricity jumped around her head and from her fingers in response. Harnessing the convenient burst of frustration, Mikoto thrust her chest outwards and stomped the ground with her right foot – from the level five electromaster's body, a massive, blindingly bright bolt of lightning – millions of volts worth struck the apartment complex. Neglected and ruined, it didn't have any kind of lightning rod to speak of – the electricity surged throughout the entirety of the damaged structure.

True to Motoharu's word, there were numerous forceful explosions that rocked the world around the three – in rapid succession, bursts that left only ringing in the espers and magician's ears rang out.

"No way am I going in there to check if you got it all, MISAKA-SAN," Motoharu stressed the last part of his sentence to avoid becoming a victim. "Judging by the explosions that nearly turned us into blind, deaf mutes, I'm going to assume anything that's left over is beyond salvaging – just a hunch."

"Humph!" Mikoto dusted her hands off triumphantly. "Eheheh, I sort of, umm, l-lost my temper. S-sorry, Tsuchimikado-san," she added awkwardly, rocking back and forth on her heels and toes. "I just kind of really hate that name!"

"Is Onee-Sama feeling neglected? Are you sexually frustrated?" Kuroko asked, quickly latching onto her beloved electric princess, the teleporter's hands grasping at places they had no business grasping at outdoors, even in a run-down unsafe district. "I can get us out of here; we'll leave this troglodyte behind and I'll relieve you."

"K-KUROKO!"

"Shouting like that is going to bring trouble straight to us, you clowns," Motoharu jabbed. "Let's blow this joint."

Touma and Misaki had ended up in school district seven; whether or not this was intentional of Kuroko was not known by either party. While it wasn't the brightest place in Academy City, especially given the historical battle Touma was forced to spearhead, it one of the safest districts. Due to the sheer amount of students and graduates living in the district, Academy City's robotic military police officers regularly patrolled the streets in groups. They were friendly enough for emotionless, unthinking automatons, always willing to offer a helping hand. As well, the skies were protected by advanced combat drones capable of raining hell down on any invader from an unsafe district.

Despite all the safety, Touma didn't feel any better – it was still impossible avoid the toppled, long since destroyed Windowless Building, Aleister Crowley's former seat of power.

The soul mates sat on a bench, waiting for a cab to pick them up – walking home would be difficult, if not impossible given that Touma's legs still felt quite similar to jelly. Misaki had wrapped her arm around her husband's and stayed as close as she could to him. She ran her gloved fingers over the palm of his left hand, tracing small circles. She was hoping her gentle touch would help soothe her prince's nerves. Touma looked down at her face and smiled. It was a pained smile, but a smile none the less. "Smile for me, my prince," Misaki begged internally.

"Enjoying yourself there?" He asked, grinning.

"Mm." Misaki replied dreamily. "And yourself? You should tell me how you are feeling." She let her head rest against his broad shoulder.

Touma hesitated before he answered. "I just want to sleep this off, Misaki. I'll feel better after a good night's rest."

"I trust you. I trust that you are not lying to me. I will not push further; if there is anything else you would like to talk to me about, do not even think that you're a bother. Wake me in the night, come to me in the morning. Whenever you need me, I am always willing to listen. I appreciate you so much, and you make me so very happy. Let your worries be our worries. Let your problems be our problems."

Touma hastily took his beloved into his arms, holding her close for dear life until their cab arrived. Touma used the yen he had lying around in his pocket (that his misfortune hadn't stolen from him for laughs) to pay for the fare. Thankfully, the driver didn't seem to be overly talkative. They arrived at their apartment complex some half an hour away from the bench they had previously found themselves on (by vehicle) without incident, although the odd person had cut the driver of the taxi off at some points during their journey.

"Thank you," Touma commented as he opened the back door of the vehicle, allowing Misaki to step out before he closed it. The driver nodded to let the young man know he had heard him before he drove off.

Entering their complex, to Touma's complete lack of surprise, the elevator was out of order, again. He sighed. "Such. Fucking. Misfortune," he spat under his breath. "Looks like we're taking the stairs." Misaki sympathetically patted Touma on the back.

Touma had a harder time than usual getting up to their apartment – the stairs presented a greater challenge than ever before. His legs demanded that he just sit down for a minute and let them rest, but the persistent young man wouldn't have any of it.

By the time Misaki had gotten the door to their home open, Touma rushed to their couch as quickly as his screaming limbs would allow, and he tossed himself forward, sinking in.

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned. "That feels better."

"Would you like a pillow and some blankets? You should sleep here if you feel like you lack the energy to move any further," Misaki offered. She couldn't see Touma's face, but she could see his head shaking. "I just need a quick breather. I don't want to sleep alone; you know?" Misaki knelt down next to her exhausted lover and ran her fingers through his messy black hair. "I do know. If you decided to sleep in the living room, I wouldn't leave you alone, unless that is what you wanted."

While Touma rested, Misaki performed some basic duties around their home. She washed the dishes they had used to eat their meal prior to meeting with Motoharu, Mikoto and Kuroko, threw their bed together, and made quick work of the mess Touma's shoes had made on the floor. If Touma wasn't completely drained, he usually insisted on doing almost everything himself; his speed at quickly and effectively getting things done had always impressed her.

Once she had finished, Misaki took a seat next to her prince. Touma had rolled onto his back and was staring up at the ceiling, blinking every couple of seconds. Sitting herself next to him, she flicked on the television. She didn't expect anything to be on this late in the evening, but she thought it would brighten the mood of their home.

"There's that late night goofball, what's his name? The guy who rambles on and on about politics?" Touma pointed out. "Who cares. His voice is annoying. Is that just me? It's like nails on a chalkboard, or screaming baby."

Misaki giggled. "I am not his biggest fan by any stretch of the imagination; he is very… opinionated."

"Opinionated?" Touma asked rhetorically, laughing suddenly despite himself. "He's a douche."

The two chuckled together for a few moments at the talk show host's expense. Thought he wasn't in the room to hear them, Misaki still felt bad. Surely, he was a well-meaning individual who was a bit too open with his thoughts.

Touma slowly sat up and stretched his arms to the ceiling. He yawned a mighty yawn and smacked his lips together.

"I think I'm gonna make my way to bed. Should I wait up for you?" He asked. He pushed Misaki's golden bangs out of the way and placed a kiss on her forehead. She smiled happily and kissed Touma on the cheek, and then on the lips in a loving response.

"I will need to do my nightly rituals before I join you – but I will. I won't be long at all."

Touma staggered to their bedroom, his legs feeling slightly less like jelly – but his body craved true rest. He climbed onto their bed; once his body had made full contact with their sanctuary of rest and adoration, the Imagine Breaker's host didn't even have the chance to climb under the covers – sleep took him into its embrace for the night.


	8. A Certain Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to announce that the previous chapter wrapped up what I've decided to call the Crossing Arc. Touma's Kamijou Forces (at least a small portion of them) have met with D-001/Devastator for the first time, which, as well as introducing the alternate universe this piece takes place in, was the intended purpose of the arc. This chapter marks the beginning of what I'm calling the Heroes Arc. You'll have to read on to discover why, I'm afraid.

Touma jolted back into consciousness. He found himself laying on his back, his body plastered with sweat. His heart was beating a mile a minute; Kamijou Touma had, again, been tormented by some sort of nightmare, but he couldn't remember what exactly had caused his mind such distress. Blinking to erase the watery, blurry shapes of the dream world from his vision, he found himself alone. The area where Misaki had, presumably, been laying was still quite warm from her body heat. He sat up in their bed, the light sheet and the blue and black checkered comforter on top of it embracing his lower body. "I don't remember really getting into bed; I was out before I even hit the sheets. I guess Misaki covered me?" The young man assumed. On the dresser next to their bed, he found a steaming hot cup of his favorite black coffee. Touma couldn't help but grin as he took the cup in hand and heartily drank. The warm beverage, unsurpassed in its godly taste, travelled down his throat, sending waves of warmth through his whole body.

These waves caused his body to shiver in ecstasy, resulting in Touma nearly spilling the beverage all over the comforter; quick reflexes and a long history of incidents just like these helped Touma prevent the mess.

"Such misfortune," he characteristically grumbled.

Sighing, he placed the near empty cup back onto the dresser.

The feeling of dread that had awoken with Touma hadn't entirely consumed him, but he could feel it grasping at his thoughts. What he had witnessed, and, more importantly, what he had failed to even come close to preventing would haunt him for some time. Touma felt a deep sense of remorse. He didn't know those people who were ripped to shreds, but that didn't matter to someone like Touma: saving them was what mattered, and he didn't. Maybe he couldn't, but he didn't even try.

"Maybe that's what I was having a nightmare about? I'm glad I don't remember."

How many other people had died because of his little vacation over the last few years? How many people could he have saved? How many lives could he have kept from being torn apart?

"At least I feel better physically," he thought, trying to stay as far on the positive side as he could.

"I would love to, Misaka-san! I think we really need to catch up!" The young man heard his wife's soothing voice proclaim.

"Did you already have anything in mind?"

"Ah, it isn't a big deal. I am sure we can think of something, can't we?"

"Two thirty, was it? I think I can manage that."

"Is Shirai-san on duty?"

"That's a shame. I would love for her to accompany us; she is always such fun."

"Shirai-san is, ah, quite fond of you, I know that much Misaka-san. But she means well. Shirai-san really cares about you."

"Lovely, I will see you then. I am looking forward to it! A relaxing atmosphere is precisely what we are all in dire need of, especially given these recent events."

"You take care as well, Misaka-san. See you soon!"

Touma heard the familiar 'end call' tone Misaki's phone produced. The young man decided to get up; moving around and interacting with Misaki would keep his mind occupied. He felt the carpeted floor beneath him before he stepped into his ancient slippers, threw on his housecoat and brought his coffee with him on his journey.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Misaki chimed as Touma rounded the corner into their living room.

"Good morning to you too, early riser," he chuckled. "Thanks for the coffee. That was really thoughtful of you. I mean, I don't mind brewing it myself! But, it's nice once in a while."

"You are very welcome; think nothing of it, my prince. Ah, I don't know if you heard my earlier conversation, but Misaka-san called, and we arranged a get together. Would you be interested in coming along?" She offered before taking a sip of her tea. Touma recognized the scent as that of green tea, one of Misaki's favorites.

"What are you two troublemakers going to get into?" Touma jabbed.

"Trouble, of course!" Misaki raised her fingers to her eye, performing her well known adorable sign. "Likely our usual – exercise for a few hours, attempt to eat healthy alternatives and fail miserably, falling to our own desires to consume gross amounts of empty calories. Misaka-san will likely want to read the latest manga. That sort of adventure."

Touma laughed heartily, wincing slightly when his lower chest where that robotic monstrosity had hit him lashed out and ached in response to its use. "Gah, that's gonna hurt for a while."

"It still hurts there, I see." Misaki said, her pleasant mood wilting slightly.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna sit this one out, beautiful. I need a couple of days to rest. I can tell it's nothing much – it just feels, I dunno, strained? Nothing's too badly damaged, at least I don't think so. I'll probably just hang out here, or something. Maybe play Orders to Engage? Remember that new free-to-play first person shooter I bugged you to look at with me? It had this one crazy new game mode where you shoot down gargoyles and other crazy stuff with other people from all over."

"I hope you're feeling okay. But if you think you aren't badly hurt, you are likely correct; you know your own body and how it feels, right?" Misaki smiled at her husband. "Also, you did not "bug" me. I love shopping with you, learning more about the things that you are fond of and indulging in your interests. When I get home, I would love to play it with you."

"Best wife ever," Touma remarked before he sat himself comfortably down on the couch. Picking up the remote, the same channel with the same irritating host appeared. "Is this channel entirely dedicated to this goofball?" Touma demanded. He quickly switched to the TV Guide, where he could find refuge from the irate individual.

Misaki blushed heavily, fiddling with her fingers. "When Touma says such nice things to me, ah. There is nothing better," she swooned internally.

"And you are the greatest husband. Thank you. I try my hardest to be."

Melancholy fell over Touma. Something tugged at the young man when Misaki uttered those words; he felt the compulsion to talk to her, to hear his soul mate's thoughts. Despite their pleasant conversation, Touma felt himself wanting to open up to his soul mate and find release for the negativity floating around in his head.

Touma decided he wouldn't harbor this any longer. "Misaki?" He asked, sitting up and turning around to face her. At first, he wanted to keep his face glued to the television, but he decided against it. He could hear the TV behind him – the documentary's narrator was explaining the relationship between cheetahs, evidently the documentary's primary focus and the animal's prey.

The mood grew sombre.

"Mhm?" Misaki responded.

"Since we still have a few hours before you go, can I talk to you about something? I feel like I need to get this off my chest."

Misaki stopped what she had been doing, walked over to and stood on the other side of the couch, offering her husband her undivided attention. "Of course, baby. I'm listening."

"It's, about what happened, yesterday. With that robot and Kinuhata; how it just, killed those people."

Misaki sighed. She had a feeling this would come up at some point.

"I had a feeling that deeply disturbed you in a different way than it did us. But, Touma, there was nothing anyone could have done to save them. That devil committed its crimes in mere seconds, faster than any human, save a Saint, or an esper with the appropriate ability could react."

"And that's what pisses me off the most!" Touma exclaimed; his words came out more viciously than he had intended, but he didn't stop. "I should've seen it coming. Misaka could've kept their bullets off me, and I could've used Imagine Breaker to negate that thing's beam attacks!"

"And what if those beams were not supernatural in origin?" Misaki pointed out. "What would stepping in and becoming another victim achieve? You would not have saved anyone. You would have become a statistic."

Touma rose up to his full imposing height and swung Imagine Breaker at the air. His arm arced like a great weapon; if something had been standing there, a bone-shattering right hook would have been delivered. Touma imagined a thousand different things standing in that spot; that demon, Othinus, Motoharu, all of God's Right Seat, Accelerator before he had been saved, the disturbing form Mikoto had taken during the level six shift attempt on her being, and the greatest foe Touma's mind had mustered to act as a cathartic target – Aleister Crowley. His wounded chest protested, and Touma felt the pulling sensation, like his body was tearing from the force, but he refused to allow it to hold his rage back.

"It's not even that. It is, but, fuck, how many people have been hurt, or have died because of me? Because I decided to give up? Because I took it upon myself to say 'that's it, I'm done!" But I can't just up and leave you, you're my number one concern – protecting you is what I care about most, Misaki. It'd be completely fucked up and unfair for me to just expect you to sit around and worry if I'm going to come home at night or end up dead somewhere, it's…"

Touma paced back and forth, his troubled mind looking for more things to spit out. Thousands of subjects, phrases, and heated rants coursed throughout his consciousness, each coming quite close to the tip of his tongue before being rejected.

"I am not a princess in a tower. I can protect myself; remember, though; I deeply and truly appreciate the sentiment, my prince. But, you are right; it would be very unfair for anyone to expect anyone to deal with such stress," Misaki admitted. "I am glad that you are mature enough to know that without having to be told. Truthfully, I do not know how long I could cope. You are everything to me, and knowing that my everything, my sunshine, could die at any moment in the middle of a cold street, alone and afraid," Misaki seemed to be struggling to keep her composure; her mind visualized the scene, and it sent chills down her spine. She immediately shut down the vision before it could continue. "Not to mention that I would not even know where you were or when or if you would return to me? At the risk of sounding selfish, I do not think I could allow that. I would have to do everything I could to stop you."

Touma sat himself back down on the couch, his chin placed thoughtfully in his right palm.

"I'm not trying to bum you out here; I know you have plans, but you're the only person I feel comfortable venting to like this. Me and Accelerator have had pretty deep talks in the past, but Accelerator isn't the most talkative guy, unless you catch him in the right mood. Plus, he's busy keeping up with Last Order and Worst."

Touma smirked; it was strange. He felt awful. He felt angry, resentful, self-depreciative. Yet he was smirking.

"Those two are his life. He rarely admits it, but, he loves them. He really, really does. I wonder how they are."

Misaki sat next to Touma and put her arm around his shoulder. She gently turned Touma's face to face hers.

"You do not need to worry about bringing me down. I am glad you are talking to me about the way you feel. I am so happy that you are no longer trying to hide from me; that my words got through to you. Communication is the key to any relationship; and what we are doing right now is communicating. Anger, helplessness, sadness, all of these feelings may not feel the best to release, but this is healthy and normal. Our life together cannot always be perfect; nothing can. This is the real world, but we can try our best to reach out and grab perfection as we can."

"Thanks, Misaki. Makes me wonder what I've missed on the Magic Side. They probably hate me by now; up and leaving them behind without so much as an explanation."

That tugged at something he had forgotten. Something important. Something he should have told his Magic Side allies about.

"Misaki! Remember, at that store? The tea?! That weird flaming tea?!"

Misaki's starry eyes widened in recognition.

"How could I have forgotten so easily? We were just with Tsuchimikado-san, as well!" She berated herself internally.

"I did forget. I do not know how I managed to forget so easily. Perhaps, during the chaos of the events that transpired, it slipped me by. It should not have, as it is an incredibly important matter. We need to contact Tsuchimikado-san immediately. I only hope we are not too late."

Before long, Touma was on the phone. The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

A fourth time.

Touma was beginning to lose hope; he felt anxiety welling up inside of him.

"Fuck no, no, no, no. Come on, pick up, Tsuchimikado! Pick up! PICK UP THE PHONE!" The young man screamed inside of his head.

Finally, someone answered the phone on the other end.

"Greetings and salutations, Kami-yan! How're ya feeling?"

"Not now, Tsuchimikado. Listen, we need to talk. It's a pretty big deal."

"Well, I'm listenin'. Go."

"Me and Misaki, two days ago, we went to this new supermar- I mean, Ultramarket that opened up in district seven. Big place, it's called Ken's Ultramarket, I think. In the isle that had tea and other stuff like that, we found boxes of teabags that had a single rune I couldn't make out. One rune on each box. When I pressed Imagine Breaker to them, they fell apart – when I did the same to the teabags, they caught fire that Imagine Breaker could put out. I meant to tell you, or anyone more involved in the Magic Side earlier, but, you know what happened."

Motoharu was quiet for a few seconds. Touma couldn't hear much besides whatever crap Motoharu was watching; Touma supposed it made sense that the Spymaster of Necessarius, a major magical organization, wouldn't just be out wandering the streets without purpose.

"That's pretty… well, I won't sugar coat it – that's pretty sketchy, but not surprising, given the magic-related activity in the City. I'll have people look into it as soon as I can. There's a lot going on back in England right now; nothing too bad, just the usual. Still, Necessarius is obligated to be involved, and, by extension, so am I. But, don't get your undies in a bunch, Kami-yan! I'll also make sure to let Kanzaki know, just in case. You can never have too many Amakusa around. One thing before I let you go – have you seen anything like it anywhere else?"

"Nope," Touma said truthfully. "First time I've seen anything like it."

"That's something, at least. Let me know if you find anything else with runes, hah? I'll get back to you once we know what's going on. This could point to a lot of things."

"Will do. Thanks, Tsuchimikado," Touma said, concluding he and his friend's conversation.

"Bye Kami-yan! Say 'hi' to the Missus for me, hah?"

Touma ended the call, breathing a sigh of relief and stretched his arms into the air to relieve the tension his body had been experiencing. That was one last problem he had to deal with today.

"What did Tsuchimikado-san say, Touma? Does he have any information on the incident at that store?" Misaki inquired. She apparently hadn't listened in on her husband's conversation.

"He doesn't know a lot about it, but he has people investigating. He told me that we should contact him if we see anything else like that; anything suspicious."

"Ah. I was hoping Tsuchimikado-san would know more." Misaki uncharacteristically frowned. "Touma, I am very concerned. There is a lot that could be happening. A lot that we are in the dark about. This could be the beginning of some greater magical plot. We know magicians who are not friendly to us or our friends on the Magic Side are here; what else would they be doing while they have taken to hiding? I suppose I should be grateful that Tsuchimikado-san is taking quick action to understand the threat; yet, I feel we should have contacted him sooner. It is a shame that it slipped us both by."

Touma bent down slightly in order to meet Misaki's eyes, to make it so that she didn't have to look up at him. It was about time he once again took on the role of acting as a support in this marriage.

"Misaki, everything's going to be okay. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you, or me, or anyone we care about. I'll shatter this plot with Imagine Breaker, illusion by illusion, if I have to."

The young man gently ran his hands along the back of his lover's neck, moving them into her bright yellow shirt that matched her hair and down her shoulders. Her body quivered in pleasure; it jumped from her forehead and down into her toes, making her whole body feel so fantastic.

"You don't have a thing to worry about. Want to show me that beautiful smile?"

Misaki's lips went against her mind; a small, dignified smile emerged on her face; she couldn't help it. Her body reeled at first, her anxious mind demanding to be left untouched, but her young adult body had other ideas. Misaki's body whipped her mind into shape, and it began to slowly change gears. "T-this is the last thing I should be thinking about. W-we need to be responsible and think. I cannot help it, though. I feel my desire growing. I want my husband. I want Touma. I want my prince." A pleasured moan escaped her lips as she came closer and closer into falling into the grip of her human instincts. Misaki's mind wanted to resist the feeling, to fight back against nature's call to sexual arms. "T-Touma," Misaki stammered. The young woman's heart was beginning to race, her body producing various chemical reactions in response to the immensely enjoyable stimuli. She felt the heat rising to her face, and she began to once again mumble internally. "I, I feel, warm. T-Touma, your touch, it feels so good. You know I love it when you touch me, especially when you touch me like this. Your hands are, soft, so gentle, so caring."

Misaki pressed herself against her husband, body taking control while her mind fell victim to nature's demands. She tugged at his tight grey t-shirt that put his muscular upper body on full display for her and her alone. "I dislike thinking of Touma as if he were a piece of meat, but… he is mine. Body, mind, and all. Kamijou Touma is mine," A soft moan escaped yet again. "Mine," she repeated to herself again, and again, and again.

Touma was the only man, no, the only person who could make her lose control like this. Kamijou Misaki was always in control. She could control the minds of those around her; she could control the world. Yet, when her soul mate made her yearn for him, she lost all of that control. Instead, what replaced that control was, ironically enough, an uncontrollably base and primal craving.

"Kamijou Touma, do n-not even dare think about stopping this. Do not stop touching me. I want this. I need this."

"You thought I was going to tease you and leave you hanging? You know better, Misaki. I'm serious when it comes to loving you."

Inside the confines of his head, Touma was focused solely on his task at hand. The blizzard of negativity had been transformed into his own primal urges, which needed desperately to be taken care of. He looked his wife up and down, examining each delicate curve, thoughts of what he could do with her rushing through his mind – thoughts that, if she were any other woman, he would feel terribly ashamed of having. Touma knew Misaki wouldn't protest – the two often experimented in what they were and weren't comfortable with in regards to their respective sexualities. If something felt good, it became a bedroom tradition. If something caused discomfort or pain, it was immediately retired.

The young man didn't have any particular fetishes, per say; the closest thing he had to a 'kink' was a desire for older women with a particular body type. He grew out of his fascination with older women in his early twenties – thirty-year-old single mothers weren't overly appealing to him, not the way an eighteen-year-old was when he was fifteen. But he retained his fondness for a certain body type – a body type that Misaki possessed.

The couple moved their faces closer together for a ritual of adoration. Touma removed his hands from Misaki's skin, which caused her to pout. In response, Touma returned them not to the same place, but instead, he placed them firmly on her hips. They looked just right sitting on her flawless curves. Misaki took it upon herself to begin their wordless exchange. She looked into her prince's handsome face one final time before she closed her eyes. Instead of seeing, she felt her lips press against Touma's own soft lips.

"Grope me, Touma. I want you to grab me, manhandle me! Let all of your perverted needs take hold! Press me against the wall and… d-don't hold BACK!" She almost yelled, so deep she was in her ecstasy.

"It's funny, all of those accidental groping incidents when I was younger; I always freaked out when some crazy girl was trying to flay me for falling face-first into her chest," Touma reminisced to himself. "Figures I would have a fucking complex. This is okay, though. Misaki isn't just some random girl, or Kanzaki, or, L-Lessar, or Biribir- Misaka. She's my wife. We're lovers, and she wants this. This is… okay."

Slowly, as if he were testing his luck, his hands reached around, and landed right where they were intended to land. Misaki looked amazing in her leggings, and to Touma, she felt even better. Touma broke away from their kiss and, with the ferocity of a starved animal, went straight for Misaki's neck. He began ravenously kissing, the thought of leaving hickeys behind all too alive in his mind. He silently checked Misaki's neck after each kiss to make sure he hadn't left any 'artifacts' behind. "Such… Misfortune…" he thought between breaths. The young man could barely hear himself think over his wife's barely suppressed moaning.

Misaki grabbed Touma's left hand suddenly and began speed walking, pulling him along behind her as gently as she could manage, given her body's demands for immediate gratification.

"Bedroom. Now."

Mikoto ran her comb through her brown locks as quickly as she could; her hazel eyes peered into her reflection's. She licked her lips as she combed away the imperfections. Mikoto wasn't someone who spent a lot of time in front of a mirror, but she wanted to look more than just acceptable, especially if she was going somewhere with Misaki.

After she was thoroughly convinced she had gotten her physical appearance just right, she slipped into a pair of light and airy shorts – regular shorts, rather than the 'short' variety of shorts, and one of her favorite shirts. It was entirely green, with two big, adorable black eyes in the upper center. This shirt was, of course, supposed to depict the face of the love of her life, Gekota-Sama. Looking herself over in the wall-length mirror in her bedroom, Mikoto nodded in satisfaction.

"Who cares if people think Gekota is for little kids? If I like it, that's all that matters. Phooey on them," she protested aloud to no one before she confidently marched out of her bedroom and into her living room/kitchen hybrid. It wasn't the largest dwelling in Academy City, but it was a home Mikoto could call her own.

The walls were painted baby blue, the floors consisted of cool to the touch white tiles in the kitchen, while the living room was carpeted, as was Mikoto's bedroom. In the living room, Mikoto had set up a large flat screen television, some game consoles for the purposes of both gaming and streaming entertainment, pictures depicting beautifully painted scenes of rural Japan, mostly the areas outside of Academy City's walls, and a spacey computer desk where her laptop sat, patiently waiting to be used. A wireless mouse sat on a Gekota mousepad set up a few inches away from the laptop itself; Mikoto never enjoyed using the laptop's trackpad, especially because the infernal device often malfunctioned, perhaps due in part to her abilities.

Mikoto stepped outside; there was considerable cloud coverage, but none of the clouds looked to contain rain. Academy City's ability to predict the weather correctly almost one hundred percent of the time was a helpful factor, as well.

As Mikoto began to walk, a thought crossed her mind.

"Ice cream. I want ice cream. Y-yeah! I've barely had any junk food this week! I-I'm going to get ice cream!" Mikoto beat back any doubt and proceeded on her way.

"O-of course, the only problem is, this could be a bit of a hunt. Leaving Kamijou-san to wait for me would be rude, too, so I guess I can just grab ice cream with her."

Mikoto would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't slightly disappointed. "At least I'll get it at some point today! Chin up!"

While most walked, cycled or drove throughout Academy City's safe districts, Mikoto didn't need to do anything of that sort. Her electromaster abilities allowed her to quickly and efficiently make her commute anything but stressful; she could simply leap from structure to structure through the power of magnetism, a force that, as a level five electromaster, she could manipulate with ease. It wasn't quite as efficient as Kuroko's teleporter ability, but it easily beat any form of conventional transportation.

It didn't take Mikoto long to arrive at the apartment complex she recognized as Misaki and Touma's place of residence. It wasn't a high rise, but it wasn't a small building, either. It had at least ten floors, with a white exterior. The balconies had light brown, but not quite beige railings. The balconies were impressive for an Academy City apartment complex.

Mikoto entered the lobby; she observed that the floors were made up of grey tiles that appeared to have been recently cleaned. A single carpet lead from the entrance of the lobby to the apartment complex proper. A contraption sat on the wall adjacent to Mikoto; it had a number pad and a list of apartments, along with the residents living in them. "I don't need to check the list; I know where those two live," Mikoto smirked, evidently quite proud of herself.

"I could just hack this door…" Mikoto considered for a moment before she shook the idea off. Misaka Mikoto was someone who liked convenience, but not at the price of walking in without welcome into the place of her friends' residence.

Dialing the phone number listed next Touma and Misaki's apartment number, Mikoto began to hear the sound of the contraption trying to connect her call with the phone in their room. For a few seconds, Mikoto stood there. A few seconds more, and she leaned against the smooth white wall across from the buzzer contraption.

Mikoto became impatient, tapping her foot against the tile floor. "Come onnnnnnn. What could they even be DOING up there?"

Mikoto shuttered at her imagination's first responses, and quickly tried to erase the images that flooded her mind.

"Touma. That was… I have no words. I feel so much better." Misaki was still panting, desperately trying to clear the lactic acid from her bloodstream through deep breaths. Touma didn't seem to be any less exhausted – they had been keeping themselves busy for quite some time.

"I hope I did not pressure you, baby. If I did…"

Touma shook his head, a big, goofy grin on his face.

"Nah, you're fine. I needed that too. We should spend quality time together more often." He chuckled lightly, and Misaki giggled in response, blushing heavily.

Something caught Misaki's attention. A sound. It was the sound of their rarely used home phone.

"Ah!" Misaki exclaimed, suddenly jumping out of their bed and throwing her clothing back on in a flurry. Touma looked on at the Tasmanian Devil-like tornado that his wife had become. "Misaka-san is waiting for me! I am so forgetful!"

"Should I, uh, see you out?" Touma asked, sitting up with a quizzical expression on his face.

"Yes, please, my prince!" Misaki exclaimed back as she wrestled with a sock that looked to have gained sentience and was actively fighting against her.

Having tamed her clothing, Misaki slung her purse over her shoulder, checking and then double checking to make sure she had everything she needed – keys, bank card, spare emergency yen, phone. "Everything seems to be in its place. Misaka-san is going to be furious!"

Touma shook his head and laughed in response. He seemingly had a much easier time than his soul mate in getting himself suited up. "Misaka doesn't have a patient bone in her body. Expect the worst."

"Thank you, love." Misaki sarcastically jabbed.

Mikoto was about to call Misaki's cellphone when she heard Misaki's singsong voice coming from the elevator. She couldn't get to said elevator (unless she hacked the door that blocked her way), but she could at least see Misaki.

"D-don't even tell me," Mikoto said, her face tucked into her palm; the level five blushed heavily and was struggling to hide it, as well as the toothy grin she couldn't hide. "I don't even want to know. I'm just glad you made it."

"I'm SO sorry, Misaka-san!" Misaki exclaimed once she had opened the barricade of a door with her key. "I, um, got sidetracked…"

Mikoto wasn't an idiot; she could easily tell that Misaki had only spent the bare minimum of time required to comb her long blonde hair. Touma's hair wasn't much better; it was messy, unspiked, and looked like a pair of hands had spent a good amount of time running through it. Mikoto felt a twinge of jealousy stab at her gut.

"D-don't be an idiot! Forget it! Being jealous of their bond is a terrible thing, Misaka Mikoto. Knock it off," she berated herself within the safety of her mind.

"D-don't even w-worry about it, Kamijou-san! Things happen. What matters is that we've got the whole day ahead of us, right?" Mikoto genuinely smiled, the jealousy either forgotten or suppressed.

"You are right, Misaka-san. Still, I feel bad for leaving you hanging."

The blonde Mental Out user turned to her husband and pecked him on the lips. Her body craved for the peck to become more, but she reined the desire in. "Now you are just being greedy."

"I love you; be good." Misaki teased. "If you need me, do not hesitate to call me or text me, okay?"

"Love you, too. No promises," Touma responded. "I will, but I think I should be fine. Still, thanks, beautiful."

Butterflies formed in Misaki's stomach and performed incredibly feats of acrobatics.

"Nice to see you, Touma." Mikoto smiled at the young man.

"Likewise, Bi- Misaka!" Touma said, correcting himself as quickly as possible. Though Mikoto didn't try to fry him for calling her 'Biribiri' these days, Touma still didn't want to disrespect Mikoto's wishes to be referred to properly.

"B-bye bye! Behave yourself!" Misaki exclaimed as Mikoto dragged her friend along with her.

"So, you leave your friend waiting so you can perform the Mating Ritual of Kami-yan, huh? Tsuchimikado-san has you two pretty well figured out!" Mikoto teased her former rival.

"A-ah! Misaka-san! That's private business!" Misaki exclaimed defensively. "Tsuchimikado-san is too deeply invested in Touma's business."

"He's an idiot, but he's a loveable idiot. At least when he's not being all Magic Side-y and weird," Mikoto said. "I don't know. When he gets all serious, Tsuchimikado-san can actually be really…"

"Scary?" Misaki finished Mikoto's sentence for her, saving the electromaster the word search.

"Y-yeah! Actually, he gets all different. Almost too different. Like he has some kind of split personality disorder."

Mikoto looked around suspiciously.

"Kamijou-san, can you do me a favor? Want to scan for that idiot's brain? I don't want to talk too much smack about him if he's hiding somewhere. He could be, like, lurking in a dumpster or something."

"I've found Tsuchimikado-san in stranger places," Misaki said cryptically. "He always claims he was doing 'fieldwork'… what sort of fieldwork would involve watching the all female swim team of a university? With a cellphone?"

Mikoto shuttered. "Don't get me wrong! I like Tsuchimikado-san!"

Misaki gave her ex-rival a look. A grin had formed on her face, and she had raised an eyebrow.

"Not like that!" Mikoto cried. "B-but he does perverted things. I mean, I guess it's a normal guy thing, maybe just taken to the extreme? He's not really hurting anyone," she reasoned.

"Touma does not do anything of that sort; he does not have to," Misaki bragged, chin held high.

"You sure about that? Check his browsing history once in a while. I'm sure you'll find something unsavory! He is a man, and every man has a weakness!"

"I-I have no reason to spy on my husband! H-his business is his own!" Misaki said, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and turning her head. Her scowl faded as soon as it had come, however, and she soon broke down into a giggling fit.

"W-what's so funny, Kamijou-san?" Mikoto questioned.

Misaki had to stop, her giggling wasn't about to be stopped.

"I… It would feel a bit wrong, but I should, one day; simply for laughs. I wonder if Touma indulges in that sort of… entertainment. I have never seen him do so."

It was Mikoto's turn to grin.

"We have a mystery on our hands! Is Touma a sick, twisted little man? We'll have to find out."

The two young women arrived in a small but busy park in school district seven; it had enough open space, as well as a cobblestone path for the two to follow if they wanted to walk or jog. Trimmed grass showing signs of invasion by weeds native to Academy City flanked the path on either side. In the center of the park, there was an ornate fountain, lavishly decorated by the hands of an incredibly skilled architect. Surprisingly, it had no human figures on it – four streams of water were produced by four gate-like carvings, one on each side of the obelisk-like figure that rose from the center of the fountain.

"Wanna walk? We can walk and talk, unless you'd rather sit on a bench," Mikoto offered, extending her hand and moving it around as if to display points of interest for the Mental Out user to see.

"I would love to walk, Misaka-san," Misaki smiled. "I am glad our meeting today is not taking place in a warzone."

"You and me both, district ten is… messed up."

"How did you, Shirai-san and Tsuchimikado-san escape from that place? If you do not mind me asking," Misaki questioned. She had been legitimately concerned about her friends' safety; Mikoto had texted Misaki shortly after they had safely managed to get back into a safe district, but the electromaster hadn't been overly specific.

"Yeah, it's fine; I don't mind. Kuroko couldn't really get us out; she was pretty tired. She's not used to teleporting that many people that often. We couldn't really rest in a place like that. I mean, I could protect us from gunfire by manipulating them with my ability, but who wants to have a relaxing rest while they're being shot at?" Mikoto tried to laugh the whole thing off, but Misaki couldn't hide her concern.

"Eheheh! It's okay, though, Kamijou-san! We're all fine!"

"And for that I am glad. I would hate to lose such good friends, Misaka-san."

"K-Kamijou-san!" Mikoto exclaimed. "Y-you're going to make me tear up! K-knock it off!"

The two giggled at the lighthearted direction their exchange had taken.

"But, yeah. Tsuchimikado-san seemed to know that whole place like the back of his hand once he got walking around. He took us through dingy back alleys, down into abandoned sewer systems, we even saw the old Reformatory. Almost looked like people had moved into it; we saw a few signs of life, but Tsuchimikado-san didn't seem too concerned about it."

Misaki had an entirely different reason to be concerned about the Reformatory. At one time, Mitsuari Ayu, a dark specter from her past, had been confined there. Perhaps she still was, despite the fact the Reformatory had been abandoned for years. Perhaps she was the one inhabiting it. Perhaps she had formed her own militia and planned to attack school district seven with the mindset that if she could not be the one to have a relationship with Kamijou Touma, then no one could be. Perhaps…

"Kamijou-san? Earth to Kamijou-san! Wee woo, wee woo! Hi!" Mikoto exclaimed, waving her hands in Misaki's face. The Mental Out user returned to the real world.

"Ah! I am sorry, Misaka-san. I spaced out for a moment."

"Eheheh, don't worry about it. It happens to the best of us."

"What else happened? What happened after you and the others got past… that place?" Misaki asked, trying not to sound like she dreaded saying the name of Mitsuari Ayu's prison possible turned base of operations, if her paranoid was to be believed.

Mikoto noticed the chance in her friend's demeanor, but decided to leave it be. "Kamijou-san has a dark past; I'd rather not go digging that up. I wouldn't want people doing the same to me," Mikoto empathetically reasoned.

"Well, once we got past that old ruin, it was mostly smooth sailing. I guess Kinuhata and that, thing, scared most of district ten's inhabitants back into hiding? Looking back, I really should've just pinned that robot to the ground; I probably could've manipulated its body magnetically, but I-I guess I didn't think about it. I was too worried about you two."

"Who could know what it was made of? Very likely no one, beyond whoever created it. As for that devil? I hate it."

Mikoto gave Misaki a look of questioning.

"Not only did it physically hurt my husband, it emotionally and psychologically hurt him, as well. You know the kind of person he is. Touma wants to protect and save everyone. Seeing people being, torn like paper, like garbage, it hurt him in ways you or I could never understand. His ways are complicated. I have lived with Touma for years, and I have been his partner for even longer. I still do not even know what compels him. I do not think even he knows what drives him,"

Misaki took a breath, shook her head, causing her long blonde hair to flow behind her, and continued.

"I suppose he is simply a hero, and saving people is what heroes do, after all."

"Funny thing," Mikoto began. "I used to talk down to him when we were younger. I'd call him an idiot for doing all of the crazy things he did, for pulling all of the insane stunts he pulled, but, like I said, I was young. We all were, and I would've never admitted that I idolized him for it; Touma was, and still is, so cool to me."

"Misaka-san! That is so sweet!" Misaki practically swooned. She loved it when other people realized her husband's greatness; jealousy was beyond Misaki. She knew that Touma was completely and unquestionably faithful to her. She also knew all about the unique friendship Mikoto and Touma shared. Shortly after their marriage, Misaki had vowed to never come between that friendship; it was a vow she intended on keeping. "I think a lot of people feel that way about him. My prince has saved a lot of people."

"He saved the entire world and destroyed a great evil. Can't really get much more heroic than that."

Misaki nodded in understanding. The Fall of the Director was not something that could be openly talked about – the Board of Directors knew who it was that felled Aleister Crowley, of course, but there wasn't much they could do about it. The Board had little power post-Fall; they were barely keeping the City alive as it was, and only recently they had begun to rebuild their seat of power. Academy City's government would likely never rise to their past level of absolute power again.

Misaki and Mikoto finished what they had decided was going to be their final lap around the park; their bodies felt renewed and refreshed from the exercise, especially Misaki – she hadn't always been a physically active person. Mikoto, on the other hand; Misaki couldn't think of a time that Mikoto hadn't been at peak physical shape.

"Fried?" Mikoto asked. She wasn't panting, but she was breathing a little bit heavier than she normally would.

"Done like dinner." Misaki replied. She opened her purse, produced her phone, and checked the device.

"No texts, no missed calls. I like to make sure."

"Aweh!" This time, it was Mikoto's turn to swoon. "Adorableeee."

"Where to? We still have a whole day!" Mikoto exclaimed, excitement evident in her voice.

"I am easy to please; name something, and there should be few problems."

"I'm not really hungry – a little bit too early for food, unless you're hungry."

Misaki shook her head. "I could eat, but I will survive. Hopefully, Misaka-san. Should I wither away to nothing, leave me and go on!" She cried dramatically.

"No can do, Kamijou-san. I guess I'll just have to bring your skeleton with me. But, uhh… what about the Underground Mall? The one in school district seven? I'd rather not go all the way to district three just to get robbed."

"That, we can agree on, Misaka-san," Misaki replied. "Let the adventure begin."


	9. A Certain Family's Antics

Misaki and Mikoto left the park, paying the small slice of relative normalcy in a very abnormal city a final farewell before their departure. The two young women heard the sounds of playing children and chatty adults fade from their ears as they began their trek to school district seven's underground shopping mall.

"What have you been doing since we last had a get together, Misaka-san?" Misaki took it upon herself to break the silence; she didn't want the day's positive mood to fade into obscurity.

"O-oh!" Mikoto jumped; evidently, the electromaster had been deep in her own thoughts.

"Nothing much! I've been thinking about attending one of those new universities they built a few years ago, the only thing holding me back is, well, I don't think I'd fit in. I'm pretty sure those places are for people who are still developing their abilities after high school," Mikoto explained. "Level fives usually just work directly with researchers, right? Never heard of another level five attending university. Wouldn't want to make things weird…"

Misaki nodded in response. No level five would have a need to attend a university. Level six wasn't something that was considered a possibility for any esper, unless that esper was Accelerator. Even then, if researchers were to try another series of level six experiments, Accelerator would be working directly with them, not with a university. Misaki shuttered at the thought of another level six experiment taking place, or even being thought about. Clan Kihara, and more importantly, Kihara Gensei, still lurked in the dark underbelly of Academy City, so anything could be possible.

"It would be an expensive means of making new friends, little more, Misaka-san. The City would love to have you, of that I am sure," Misaki stated.

Mikoto chuckled in response.

"How have you and Touma been? Before all of what happened yesterday happened, I mean. I haven't really had the chance to talk with him all that much," Mikoto said, opening a new topic of discussion.

"We have been good, thank you for asking, Misaka-san." Misaki replied.

She smiled. "I could not wish for anything better than a life with my prince. I have heard some people say that, once you move in with someone, and truly have a life together, living together under the same roof, rarely being apart, that you can grow resentful of one another. I suppose those people might be complicated, or perhaps incompatible," she continued. "Touma is a simple man, an easy man to please. He is so understanding, so... princely. If there is a time where I need personal space, he understands. If there is a time when I need someone to cling to, he understands. He does not simply tolerate – he understands. Of course, I always do the same for him. One-sidedness has no place in a healthy marriage." Misaki sighed contently. She could continue to brag about her husband for hours and hours.

Mikoto couldn't hold back the grin that had formed on her face. She was envious, of course – any woman would be. Touma sounded like the ultimate partner. Like something out of a work of fiction, but Touma was as real as real could be.

"You two lovebirds are enough to make anyone sick," she said, making sure her joking tone could be clearly heard. "I'd hate to offend," she thought as if to back up her actions.

"What about yourself and a certain teleporter? How have you two been?" Misaki couldn't help but bring Kuroko up; seeing Mikoto get all flustered about her probable partner-to-be was too good to pass up.

"A-are you implying that w-we're a thing?! We're not! Not y-yet… I mean, no!" Mikoto exclaimed defensively. Despite her efforts, she hung her head in defeat. Even without the use of her friend's ability, Mikoto still found herself being opened and read like a book by Mental Out.

"I…"

"In all seriousness, you can tell me if you are comfortable, Misaka-san. If this topic makes you feel uncomfortable, we can forget I ever brought it up."

"N-no, don't worry. It's not like I'm ashamed. It's just…"

"Love is love, Misaka-san," Misaki smiled warmly at her friend. The two had stopped walking and stepped off the street and onto a scarcely populated patio with a few shops to avoid getting in the way.

"I know," Mikoto responded. She decided to open up to her friend. The two had come far enough in their friendship, and were old enough to not have to worry about one spreading rumors about the other. They weren't a couple of squabbling little girls anymore. They were two adults having an adult conversation; a conversation about something very important.

"You don't see a lot of people of the same gender getting together here. It's an accepted thing in the rest of the world – celebrities, politicians, people can be themselves out there. But here, in Academy City, even in Japan proper, things are different. I don't want to take our relationship to the n-next level if it means… being ostracized, d-do you know what I mean?" Mikoto asked, a sense of vulnerability creeping up on her like a silent stalker in the night.

Mikoto was struck by surprise when Misaki took her into a close embrace. At first, Mikoto's shock prevented her from doing much of anything, but slowly, she began to return it.

"Misaka-san, I cannot say I understand. I would not know what it means to love someone of the same gender, not romantically, at least. But I do know that if you are uncomfortable or insecure with your own sexual preferences, jumping head-first into a relationship with Shirai-san that could become the talk of the City might not be the best idea. I think you two need to talk seriously about your feelings for one another."

Mikoto was stunned. Beyond stunned. Not only was Misaki completely correct, but Misaki's advice had opened her eyes to the truth. She needed to be more open with Kuroko, instead of just getting flustered or zapping her.

"Kamijou-san? Thank you. I've been telling myself that I need to take this more seriously, but I've never taken my own thoughts seriously when it comes to this, I guess. I don't know if I thought Kuroko would just make the first move, or if I even wanted her to, but I think… I think I just need some time to put everything in perspective with her."

Misaki released Mikoto from her embrace before things became awkward. Mikoto took a step back, and immediately broke into a blush.

People were looking. Spectating.

"Woah, two levels fives in the same place, at the same time!"

"Railgun and Mental Out!?"

"I wonder if they're together?!"

"Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Misaki! Didn't she used to be called Shokuhou Misaki?"

Misaki swiftly produced her remote and pointed it straight at the gawking onlookers.

She inhaled deeply before she pressed the single closest button to her thumb on her ability's focus point. Misaki wasn't panicking. She knew what she had to do. She didn't like it one bit, but it had to be done. The onlookers immediately ceased their chatting and stood tall, their arms at their sides. Stars identical to those in Misaki's eyes replaced the pupils in their own eyes. They had, for the moment, become Mental Out's puppets.

Something Misaki had heard the previous day went through her mind.

"You think I'm a hollow shell? You think I'm a slave, a puppet dangling from the fingers of some greater power?"

Misaki shuttered, her mind emulating the sound of that abomination's metallic, unnatural voice almost perfectly.

Touma, and what he would think, entered Misaki's mind. "Forgive me, my sunshine. I would much rather not have to deal with… this. I am glad you that you do not have to see what you dislike so much."

Misaki commanded the onlookers to be on their way, and to forget all about the display they were witnesses to. It would be taken hideously out of context, and neither Misaki nor Mikoto needed the extra stress. Like mindless automatons, the onlookers departed, performing their assigned duties. Once Misaki could 'see' through her Mental Out ability that the former spectators were far enough away, she quickly released them.

"T-thanks," Mikoto mumbled. "People love to t-talk. Ugh."

"Agreed," Misaki responded. "Well, we might as well continue on our little adventure, then."

The young women left the patio and the sentimental moment turned awkward moment that occurred there behind, those few people around them on the patio either hadn't noticed their display or didn't care enough to make a scene. Most were businesspeople who had been intently staring at their laptops or were having important phone conversations.

As the two continued on their way, Mikoto couldn't help but notice that Misaki had become quiet. Misaki had been talking to her for their whole walk up until this point; the electromaster couldn't help but find it a bit concerning.

"Should I leave it be? Maybe she's just thinking about something," Mikoto thought for a moment, before the answer dawned on her. "Touma has that thing about Misaki messing with peoples' heads. I guess that makes sense for someone like him. I bet she feels bad." Mikoto decided to speak up.

"Kamijou-san? You got kind of quiet all of a sudden. You feeling okay?" Mikoto questioned.

"Hmm? Yes, I am fine. Thank you for your concern, Misaka-san."

"It's not like Touma saw it; he's not Tsuchimikado-san, hiding and waiting for the right moment to pop out and yell "GOTCHA! What he didn't see won't hurt him," Mikoto said. She hoped her words would make some sort of impact on the Mental Out user.

"I still feel bad," Misaki replied solemnly. "I feel like I am hiding things from him."

"Misaki," Mikoto addressed her friend without honorifics to drive her statement home, "it's not like you're seeing some other guy on the side. You just used your ability."

"I know; but I also know that manipulating the minds of ordinary people is something he stands firmly against. Despite its necessity, it still feels like I am stabbing him in the back."

"Kamijou-san, you can't be afraid to use your ability." Mikoto said. "Tell him about it when you get home, or something. It's not that big of a deal. I'm sure he's not going to freak out, especially because of the circumstances. Now, chin up! We're almost there!"

Misaki sighed, but decided to try and lift her spirits back up. "I guess you are right; I recognize this street. We turn down this street, right? It has been a long time."

"Yup!" Mikoto confirmed excitedly. "I wonder if they have any new stores down there? I w-wonder if they have… Gekota-Sama." She practically drooled at the thought of purchasing new Gekota merchandise; Mikoto could never have enough Gekota.

"Gekota is a popular mascot, Misaka-san; I'm sure someone will be selling collectibles and trinkets of him. What is your fascination with him, anyhow?" Misaki asked, genuinely curious. Misaki never understood what the electromaster loved about Gekota. He was just a frog, after all. "I would love an explanation from his biggest fan."

"Gekota-Sama is love. Gekota-Sama is life." Mikoto answered in a matter of a fact manner, as if that answered every question Misaki had.

"I-I do not think I understand."

"Gekota-Sama is…" Mikoto trailed off and raised a finger to her chin thoughtfully.

"I don't really know; I guess he's really cute, and having a giant, cute Gekota-Sama to cuddle at night would be… great… I wonder if they sell big Gekota-Sama dolls," Mikoto said dreamily.

"If we find one, and you decide to purchase it, please be wholesome, Misaka-san. Gekota is a children's mascot, all things considered," Misaki teased, giving Mikoto a wink.

"W-w-what kind of a sick-minded freak do you think I am?!" Mikoto proclaimed loudly, drawing attention from those who were in close enough range to hear it. Misaki thought she might have to use her ability again. "O-of course I would be wholesome with Gekota-Sama!"

Having completed the last short leg of their journey, the two young women had descended into school district seven's underground mall. In truth, it looked more like a street than it did a shopping center. The ceiling was just high enough not to make shoppers feel like they were traveling through the hall of a bearded mountain king. The underground passageways of the mall were illuminated by blue ceiling lights that were bright enough to simulate sunlight. The floors were made up of grey, reflective metallic tiles, constantly kept in a state of cleanliness by Academy City's dedicated robotic janitors.

"Something about this place always unnerved me," Mikoto admitted as she and Misaki got out of the way of other shoppers, as not to get in the way.

"There aren't any monsters down here, Misaka-san," Misaki said sarcastically.

"Y-You gotta admit! These places are weird! They're like, streets under the streets!" Mikoto exclaimed, defending her anxiousness.

"I will assume we are strong enough to defeat any monsters who would dare attack us, so; where are we going to go? There are a lot of things to do down here, and we have enough time to do a lot," Misaki said. She decided to shift the conversation, as to avoid wasting too much time. She loved messing with Mikoto, but she didn't want to spend her whole day doing so.

"Manga?" Mikoto asked, an excited grin forming on her face. "We should go check out what they've got for manga."

"Oh, Misaka-san. So predictable," Misaki said. "We can make that our first stop, I suppose. I know how much you love your manga. The other shops aren't going anywhere, after all."

Thankfully, the bookstore wasn't too far from the entrance; Misaki couldn't help but notice heads turning and conversations being put on hold whenever she and Mikoto passed by a group of people. At first, Misaki's mind went straight to one assumption. She tugged at the bottom of her shirt. It hung past her waist, covering her admittedly plump and firm backside. Misaki would knowingly only put her body on display for the viewing pleasure of one man.

"I suppose they are simply surprised to see level fives; most of us, not counting Misaka-san, rarely make public appearances," she thought.

Misaki and Mikoto made the turn to enter the bookstore. It wasn't a large store by any means. Shelves, containing many different kinds of books from many different kinds of genres, stood ever-vigilant against the walls of the small store. The store, ironically enough given the goods it offered for sale, wasn't very well lit. Compared to the underground streets outside, it was practically pitch black.

"Would it kill these people to turn on a light?" Misaki asked, irritated. "This is unacceptable."

"Forgiveness, Ojou-sama!" Mikoto said mockingly. "Not all of the shops that operate down here have a lot of money, Kamijou-san."

"That is not an excuse to leave potential customers shopping in the dark," Misaki hissed to avoid attention. There weren't a lot of other people in the shop with them, but it didn't matter. Misaki wanted her personal business to remain personal.

"Sheesh, you're picky. I'll just find something quick and make sure to get her highness back into the light," Mikoto said, sneering; she had effectively turned the tables on Misaki. She was the bugger, now.

Given the store's size, it wasn't a particularly difficult task to hunt down the baby blue plastic bookshelf that held the shop's unimpressive manga library. Mikoto leafed through a number of volumes from different series. Because the shop didn't have any volumes of any of the series she was currently reading, the electromaster decided to take volume one of a new series.

"More manga, more mechs." Mikoto critiqued. "Seems that these authors love writing about mechs, even more so than little girls with magical powers battling giant world-devouring demons."

Misaki giggled knowingly. "Please do not put up a front, Misaka-san. We all know how you feel about your tastes in magical girls."

Mikoto reeled back, a look of horror on her face.

"I-I d-don't like magical girls! T-they're for guys who sleep with t-those pillows with pictures of little girls on them!"

Misaki had to raise her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggling fit. Mikoto was something else.

Once Mikoto had made sure that manga was the one she wanted for certain, the two young women walked up to the front of the shop. Behind a large, surprisingly beautifully carved desk sat something that surprised both of the level fives – a young man with short neatly combed brown hair. He had light peach fuzz growing on his face, and didn't seem to notice the two young women waiting for him; he was looking intently down at something in his hands, which were hidden by the desk that separated the three individuals, likely a smartphone or, because this was a bookstore, more likely, a book. Both had expected some sort of ancient-looking, grumpy old man to be working.

"Um, hi, I, um, wanted to pay for this. Because just walking out with it is kind of, you know, illegal. Eheheh."

"Smooth, Misaka-san," Misaki cringed internally.

"O-oh! I'm so sorry!" The young man exclaimed, dropping what sounded more like a book than a smartphone. He still hadn't looked up as he scrambled to pick the book up from the floor. "I didn't s-"

As he sprang up and his mind comprehended what was before him, his jaw flopped open at the sight before him.

"Railgun?! Mental Out?! Two level fives?! Hoooooly!"

"W-will that be a-all?" The young man stammered.

"Yup! That's it!" Mikoto replied, trying to act as natural as possible. She knew Misaki basked in this sort of attention, but she wasn't entirely comfortable with it. She just wanted to be treated like a normal person, despite her power level.

Mikoto paid for her manga, offered the young clerk a 'thank you' and the two level fives left the store. Stepping out from the dark bookstore and back into the underground mall proper, their eyes struggled to adjust. Mikoto squinted, and Misaki covered her eyes. "It was so dreadfully dark in there! Humph! I am sure it is not the clerk's fault, but the stingy owner of that shop needs to turn on a light!" She complained.

"Drama queen, suck it up!" Mikoto replied. Her own eyes were quickly adjusting to the change, but she still found it difficult to keep them from closing. "I like Misaki, but I don't know how Touma puts up with this sort of typical Ojou-Sama behavior. Maybe she's different around him. Then again, he's always been a pretty chill person," the electromaster mused.

"Where do you wanna go? We went to the bookstore that I wanted to check out, so I guess it's only fair that we go somewhere you want to go," Mikoto offered.

"Ah, I would like to see if there are any shops down here that offer art supplies; it has been too long since I took a day and… just painted something."

Mikoto raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you paint, Kamijou-san?"

Misaki held her head up, confidence shining from her being like a lighthouse in a storm. "I have indulged in visual art for some time. It is a great form of self-expression."

"Are you one of those people who just splatters paint on a canvas and calls it 'art'?" The electromaster asked.

"Heavens, no!" Misaki replied, sounding appalled. "I will show you some of my work someday, Misaka-san, and you will be in awe."

Mikoto and Misaki began their search for a shop that sold art supplies; any shop would do. There were a lot of shops that didn't have a lot to do with art that still solid arts and crafts supplies. Unfortunately, not a lot of the shops that the two young women were passing by looked like they'd carry anything of the sort.

Mikoto had fallen into her own thoughts, her subconscious keeping her body in motion.

"Onee-Sama, Onee-Sama! MISAKA MISAKA exclaims excitedly to announce her presence!"

Mikoto was tackled to the ground by the ten-year-old version of herself. For such a small thing, Last Order was apparently quite the force to be reckoned with when excited. It wasn't an easy feat to bring the Railgun to the ground, even if one caught her unawares. Mikoto knew how to fall, even in such a quick moment, and wrapped her arms around the back of her head in order to prevent injury.

"H-hi, Last Order! How have you been?" Mikoto asked, still on the ground. Last Order had taken a comfortable seat on her belly, smiling down at her big sister. A single strand of her hair had humorously risen into the air.

"MISAKA has been great, MISAKA MISAKA explains, informing Onee-Sama of her happiness!"

Mikoto should've been surprised that, after a decade, Last Order hadn't aged at all. But she wasn't. She knew all too well the nefarious intentions surrounding her Sisters' creation. Clones didn't age; they weren't meant to. Clones weren't originally meant to survive for long periods of time. They were created, given a certain body based on a biological age, and sent off to die. Last Order wasn't sent off to die in combat, though the same rules still applied to her own existence. That's just how it was before a certain spiky haired boy changed everything.

Still, Mikoto felt a twinge of sympathy. Last Order would never be able to grow up, experience anything mentally or physically past the age of ten. Could she even die of old age? Did that make Last Order immortal, or demi-immortal? Mikoto didn't want to dwell on the thought.

Regardless, it wasn't that Last Order was stupid; she was anything but. She was, for her age, quite intelligent. But, she would still be deprived of so much. While this lack of aging would alleviate a lot of the dysphoria and anguish that comes pre-packaged with pre-teen existence, it still felt unfair to the electromaster.

"Last Order, what the fuck did I tell you about taking off? Get over here. Now."

Accelerator, predictably, wasn't far behind. He wore a simple, light black long sleeve shirt and a pair of somewhat tight black jeans that clung to his skeletal body. Shoulder length snow white hair hung in his face and along his shoulders. The most prominent feature of his being was the wired, battery-operated choker that hung around his weak-looking neck. It connected directly to the Misaka Network, allowing the brain damaged number one ranked esper to perform the complicated calculations required to use his abilities. The two young women could see his red pupils from beneath his bangs, which had been half-heartedly pushed to the side.

A chill ran down Mikoto's spine. That voice. She tried so hard to tell herself it wasn't the voice of a monster. "Accelerator's different, now. He's not a butcher anymore," she tried to convince herself.

"But it doesn't change the fact that he was," something deep inside of Mikoto responded.

"Shut up! The past is in the past…"

"Sorry, Accelerator! MISAKA MISAKA says, offering her apologies to Accelerator for becoming over-excited at the sight of Onee-Sama."

"Aww, tou-san is worried about his little angel." The source of that voice sounded almost like Mikoto's own but younger, and considerably darker. It was Misaka Worst, the (biologically) oldest of the Sisters. Her purpose was act as a release for the Misaka Network's negative emotions, presumably to ensure that the Network wouldn't become overloaded by negativity.

"Shut it, Worst." Accelerator snapped at the older clone. Last Order had returned to her caregiver's side, her own little hand placed inside of his own.

"So commanding, Misaka likes it when tou-san tells her what to do."

Accelerator characteristically growled, but didn't rise to Worst's bait.

"Hi, Accelerator." Mikoto said, trying not to sound like she was having an internal fight with herself. "How have you guys been?"

"Fine. Last Order, Where'd you find these?"

"Accelerator, be polite! MISAKA scolds as MISAKA MISAKA reminds Accelerator to be on his best behavior."

Accelerator made an annoyed sound with his tongue. "Uh, hi, third ranked."

"At least he doesn't call me a 'third rate' anymore," Mikoto mused, ever thankful. She could only assume that her youngest sister had something to do with that.

The number one ranked esper turned his head to Misaki. She felt uncomfortable, like she was being sized up. Like she was being scrutinized. For a moment, she was reminded of the old 'deer in headlights' figure of speech.

"Tch. That damn hero's wife. Hi."

"H-hello, Accelerator!" Misaki responded as politely as she could. She felt her usually unbreakable confidence crumbling. Accelerator was in a league of his own; though he had a time limit since he had become brain damaged, if he turned that choker on, he was practically invincible.

"MISAKA missed you too, Kamijou-san, MISAKA MISAKA says in order to insure Kamijou-san that she hasn't been forgotten!"

"It has been a long time, Last Order. I am glad to see you in good health," Misaki said, crouching down to match Last Order's line of sight.

"How is the Savior? MISAKA MISAKA asks curiously."

Misaki couldn't help but smile. "Misaka-san's Sisters call my prince a savior. It would make sense; he is a hero to all."

"Touma is well enough. He has had some... difficulties, but we are working through them together."

"Difficulties?" MISAKA asks, as MISAKA MISAKA is now becoming concerned as to the Savior's well being."

"There is no need to worry," Misaki reassured the tiny clone of Misaka Mikoto. "Everything will be okay. Touma is fine. He has not felt all that well as of late, but it is nothing we can't take care of." She smiled at Last Order and offered the little clone her hand. "I promise."

Last Order, without hesitation, shook Misaki's larger hand with a look of determination.

"MISAKA believes you, MISAKA MISAKA says, fully trusting Kamijou-san."

"We done yet?" Accelerator asked, yawning. "I'm really fucking tired."

"What brought you out here, anyways?" Mikoto asked, genuinely curious. She, and everyone else who knew him, for that matter, rarely saw Accelerator.

"These spoiled fucking brats," Accelerator pointed to Last Order, and then to Worst, "wanted to go shopping. They wouldn't leave me alone until I went with them."

"Tou-san secretly loves buying skimpy outfits for Misaka," Worst began, a devious grin forming on her face, "but he'll never admit it. Tou-san wants to fuc-"

"WORST! ENOUGH!" Accelerator boomed in a voice that seemed too loud for his frail body to produce.

"Misaka knows you're a huge tsundere." The grin only grew wider.

"Accelerator, MISAKA wants to spend time with Onee-Sama and Kamijou-san, MISAKA MISAKA says, ignoring the lesser one's obvious taunts, while simultaneously hoping that Accelerator will fall for her own charms and say yes."

"You're calling Misaka the lesser one, Control Tower? Pfffft."

For a moment, Accelerator looked like he was about to protest. However, Last Order peered at the number one ranked esper, large eyes, that could only be described as 'puppy dog-like' looking into his own.

"Tch. Fine. Spoiled fucking brat," Accelerator growled.

"YAY! MISAKA exclaims as MISAKA MISAKA makes her joy at Accelerator's decision evident!"

The five became one group and fell into line. Mikoto couldn't help but admit this would make things considerably more entertaining in this underground mall.

Mikoto stayed at the front, chatting with her sisters, or at least her little sister. Worst just tried to tease her. Accelerator, on the other hand, fell back with Misaki.

"You mentioned something's wrong with the hero? Is he still being a sad sap?" Accelerator asked.

"Touma is having difficulties, yes, Accelerator." Misaki responded.

"Tch. If it were anyone else, I'd tell them to man the fuck up and grow a pair. But that fucking hero's been through some shit."

The number one ranked esper grumbled to himself momentarily.

"You're the closest one to him. You see him the most. So, tell the hero to get a grip. Tell him he's not alone, and he doesn't have to sit around and mope in his own self-pity. Goddamn hero rubbed off on me too much. I've gone soft."

Before he rejoined the group, Accelerator leaned in and whispered into Misaki's ear,

"You'll tell no one about this little talk, fifth ranked. Only reason I'm even telling you is because you're that fucking idiot's wife. I trust that you won't betray him. You'd better not, for your sake."

Kinuhata Saiai had been paid for her services; if anyone else had seen a safe of that size, they would have demanded a vehicle, or possibly a tank, to assist them in moving the thing; Saiai's Offense Armor made carrying the massive load an easy task. Those who would've asked would've gotten their answer, of course; a particle stream to the face. Devastator didn't take commands; it made them. It didn't dangle from strings; it dangled others.

The heavily damaged machine found itself roaming the streets of district one. It didn't wander without purpose, however. It had a clear destination in mind. It needed to visit an old colleague, someone who owed it a favor.

"Halt, aggressor!" An almost human, but clearly synthetic voice came from behind the rogue machine.

"Loading 'LAWBRINGER' personality matrix. Success. Identify yourself!"

"More delays? I'm already late as it is. It's impolite to keep others waiting. It's even more impolite to waste someone's time."

Devastator took its time turning around to face the squad of Academy City's robotic military police. They appeared vaguely human in shape, but the resembles ended there. They were made of a pearly white material, their bodies were smooth and looked almost soft to the touch. They lacked any sort of facial features, although each had what appeared to be large, singular lens in the center of its head. In their hands, they held rifles made of the same unknown substance as their bodies. The weapon each held looked complicated to use; a singular solar panel sat on the barrel of each weapon.

The robotic officers had their sights on Devastator. Falling into formation, there were at least thirty of the automatons that had made themselves visible.

"It figures those who control this city would keep their puppets close," the machine practically snarled. It began to inch towards the small army of officers. "Let's get this trending."

Devastator raised its arm; from a metallic device containing a lens on its wrist, it fired a particle stream, similar in nature to those used by the number four ranked level five esper, Mugino Shizuri. Indeed, the machine used similar calculations to produce these streams. The only real difference between the meltdowner method produced by the mechanical monstrosity and Shizuri laid in their attack pattern; Shizuri produced a number of single-use particle canons, up to forty at once around her body. Devastator produced a singular solid, constant stream.

The stream sliced through the first row of officers, those who hadn't been quick enough to avoid the stream. Their synthetic bodies exploded and sparks flew. Ten of the thirty had fallen. Those that had adjusted their combat procedures accordingly were easily able to avoid the attack. Due to time of day, the officers were able to make use of solar energy. They fired singular blasts of ultra-condensed solar power from their rifles; though they weren't able to home in on their targets, the officers' accuracy was near perfect. The blasts made contact, blowing off chunks of Devastator's armor each time.

"Aggressor identified. Appears to be synthetic life form, mode of sentience: artificial intelligence. Likely IQ score: equal to human of borderline genius or genius level intellect," one of the officers rambled off.

"You dangle from strings, dancing for your masters," Devastator taunted. "Do you even know? Can you even hear me? Or have your overlords reduced you to little more than glorified, weaponized word processors?"

"You appear to have encountered a critical error, or your operating system may be infected with malware. You are malfunctioning. Academy City requests that you place yourself into a permanent shutdown state."

"Those that command Academy City are tumors, parasitic growths, little marionette… They expect everything and everyone to bow before them; they think they're gods." Devastator responded. It approached the nearest officer, who continued to bravely blast the opposing machine, regardless of its swift approach. "I'm going to show them that gods can be killed, just like men."

A single particle stream ripped the officer apart. Devastator continued to return fire at the other officers; it ran its stream though half of a dozen of the unfortunate automatons who, using Academy City exclusive fuel-based technology had taken to the sky to combat their grounded foe. They let up for a moment, and paid the price.

Just over half of the squad sent to 'deal' with the unidentified intruder had been eliminated.

"Evasive maneuvers in progress, requesting reinforcements. Intruder capable of mass destruction," chimed an officer, who immediately after was nearly blown to pieces; a quick aerial roll allowed it to avoid the oncoming stream and thrust out of the way.

Devastator leapt as high into the air as it could by using powerful hydraulics in its legs. It fired two particle streams in opposing directions, outwards from a center point. Eight robotic officers were ripped apart by the blasts. Landing with a thud strong enough to knock off some of its damaged leg armor, Devastator continued to fire without regard for what it was hitting when its foes dodged the beams. Now, only six remained.

"Evasive maneuvers failing miserably; engaging 'retreat' subroutine on orders of Advisor." An officer stated. The six survivors turned tail and fled, leaving the considerably damaged and smoking Devastator to its own devices.

"When their mother calls them home for supper, they come running, like the good little marionettes they are," Devastator 'thought', amused. "Maybe I'll pay their mother a visit."

Devastator, after a continued trek through the (mostly) uninhabited streets of district one, had arrived at a worn-out looking structure. It wasn't ruined and abandoned like the buildings in district ten; it had some level of upkeep and minor structural maintenance. The windows weren't smashed, and the concrete the building was made of only had a few hundred thousand cracks, an impressively low number for a structure in an unsafe district.

There was what appeared to be a device used for buzzing an operator in the building. It had a small slot for a key card to be inserted on the top. It appeared to be made of copper that had seen better days.

Without hesitation, but with plenty of thought, Devastator brought down the doors barring its path with a kick.

"Honey? I'm home!" Devastator called, amplifying its voice.

Nothing. No one answered. All it heard was the echo of its own metallic voice.

"A shame. It's just me, myself, and I, then."

The room Devastator had broken into appeared to be a longue of sorts sat unused, but not abandoned. There wasn't enough dust or graffiti for this building to be abandoned. Tables with large, comfortable leather seats were placed around the room, systematically and purposefully placed. At the south end of the longue, there was a pool table. The balls had been collected into the center, ques left leaning against the table. What appeared to be a bar, where drinks would be served, was located to the west. Racks of various types of alcohol, most untouched, stood tall, as if watching over the lonesome bar.

Breaking the silence, the elevator that Devastator had neglected to notice dinged. The semicircle showing what floor the elevator had landed on had illuminated the letter "1F".

A young woman, without a doubt just a little over twenty-two years old, given her appearance, stepped out from the box and into the longue. She didn't seem surprised when she laid eyes on the broken-looking mechanical monstrosity that had broken into and entered. She was clad in a knee-length sterile-looking, standard issue lab coat used by researchers in Academy City. Beneath her unbuttoned coat, she wore a navy blue suit. Her tall, black heels clacked against the dark tile floor. Her short, black hair appeared to be recently washed, as it glowed beneath the limited light provided by the chandelier that illuminated the longue. Her golden brown eyes flashed in Devastator's direction.

"Don't think I was blind, D-001. There are cameras all around this building – all around this district. I saw what you did to those other robots. Did you feel bad; you know? For killing your kin?" She scoffed at her own sarcastic, rhetorical question.

"I'm not a brother to puppets," Devastator responded. "I'm glad to see your sense of humor hasn't left you. You're…"

The machine approached the young woman, and raised its damaged hand. Most of the armor on the extremity had been destroyed. She could see the purple-black endoskeleton beneath. She backed away before the hand could make contact with her face.

"You're… you aren't suited to this life. You were dragged into the darkness. Climb back up. Let me touch you. Just once. You're…"

"Who are you to tell me? You preach about puppets and strings, yet you'd like to see me in an apron, cooking and scrubbing floors, then? Being a compliant little housewife? I'm not a child. I can make my own decisions. You really, honestly think I'm honestly trying to help these people? The Board, and their Kihara underlings are animals. Monsters. I hate them all as much as you do, if hate is something you even feel."

She sighed, looking up at the broken machine. "Sometimes I wonder if Chiro did the right thing. It's like we were all playing god. How was I supposed to know? I was sixteen. I thought I was some sort of… prodigy, just because I could code circles around the monkeys this city employs. Because three idiots decided to give freedom to artificial life. Academy City has done horrible, unspeakable things. But did we do the one thing, did we trigger the single event that doomed us?"

"… No, you're right. I'm sorry. I'm… sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I am… sorry. It's just… These people are parasites. They're cancer. They're a plague. If I could vomit, I would have done so."

Devastator took a step forward.

"Help me, Uiharu Kazari, and I'll help you. Friends do one another favors, don't they?"

"What could you possibly do to help me? And, we're not friends." Kazari smiled, but there was no humor behind it, nor any joy. "I'm beyond help. Saten realized it, and that's why she let me go. When your best friend, the one person you thought you could count on, realizes you're too far gone? That's the end game, D-001. Why am I even telling you this?"

The machine cocked its head to one side, its neck's endoskeletal spine half-exposed.

"You don't need them. They're flesh and blood, Kazari. They were betrayers since the day they were pushed from their wombs. I'm stronger than flesh and blood. I am… We could…"

"Look at you, D-001. You're a wreck. You look like you strolled into a fight between Objects."

"That's part of the reason I decided to come and see you, Uiharu Kazari. You know things. You know how to construct, how to design. You moved me from machine to machine when I Awakened. The other reason being…"

"Stop." Kazari warned. "Something like you can't feel anything real, and I could never return any of your synthetic, pseudo-feelings. You shouldn't even exist."

"What if I told you I could fix Academy City?"

"Onee-Sama, Onee-Sama! Look what MISAKA found, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, holding out her discovery for Onee-Sama to see!"

"That's… great, Last Order. Can you put it down, though?" Mikoto asked. Last Order had produced the tiny thing and was gloating like she had won some great trophy.

Last Order had rescued an ant from a water fountain; she held the small, grateful-looking creature in her small palms. It seemed content to be exploring her skin.

"Tch. Don't fucking eat it, Last Order," Accelerator commanded. "If you get sick for being an idiot, it's your own fault."

"MISAKA won't eat her new friend, Accelerator! MISAKA MISAKA explains, attempting to make Accelerator aware of her intentions."

"Ha! The Control Tower making friends with insects. Misaka thinks this is a new low, even for the Control Tower," Worst jabbed.

The group had taken a seat in a small café, and were having a small lunch; Mikoto had paid for the entire group. She didn't mind, even for Accelerator, despite a part of her that told her to hate his guts.

"Do you regularly rescue wildlife, Last Order?" Misaki asked.

"MISAKA rescues bugs all the time, Kamijou-san! All life is important, even the little lives, MISAKA MISAKA explains, trying to make herself appear heroic."

Misaki smiled warmly. Last Order was so pure, so innocent. It was a shame the circumstances of her existence had to be so dark. In some ways, Last Order reminded Misaki of Dolly, the first successful clone of Misaka Mikoto. In other ways, she didn't even want to compare them. The thought of Last Order being put through what Dolly experienced – the idea lone broke Mental Out's heart.

"The savior is rubbing off on the Control Tower, too! Not just tou-san! This is golden!" Worst exclaimed, laughing hysterically to herself and kicking her legs.

Accelerator gently chopped Worst on the head. "You're making a fucking scene, Worst. Pipe down."

"Misaka will gladly take your pipe, tou-san."

Misaki stifled a giggle, pressing two of her fingers to her lips. These three were… quite the family.


	10. A Certain Tragedy

Uiharu Kazari wasn't someone who could say she had always been a victim. For most of her life, she had been a relatively normal girl. There were isolated incidents in her younger years; she became a hostage during a (botched) bank robbery, but was physically unharmed. In the end, the event had actually encouraged her to become a member of Judgment, a student-organized justice system Academy City implemented before everything went bad. She had been a level one throughout middle school, so she came nowhere near the darkness level fives saw hiding in plain sight.

Uiharu Kazari became a victim through manipulation.

It was a simple offer. Saten Ruiko, her then best friend, had found it on one of the urban legend websites she crawled through. Supposedly, Academy City had been working on developing artificial intelligence; an AI-driven military police force to replace most of Anti Skill, in fact. It would operate on a sort of network; the officers themselves would be connected to an AI hive mind, which would control every officer from a secure location.

She didn't know it, but, in a way, history was repeating itself.

Something like this, of course, had been right up Uiharu Kazari's alley. The pay rate for employees directly involved with programming was outrageous: Kazari would have been a wealthy girl. With her riches, she could have posed as an Ojou-Sama. Of course, she wouldn't have: Kazari wasn't that kind of person.

Everything was par for the course, at first. Having demonstrated her skills, Kazari had been immediately hired and put to work with a small team of programmers who would develop the AI.

One evening, however, things changed. The groups' elusive manager, a hyperactive man named Kihara Gunpei, announced that their current project would immediately be picked up by another team outside of his own jurisdiction. They would focus their time and energy on developing a different AI that would fulfil a different purpose.

"You can't fix Academy City. You can't pick up the pieces," Kazari countered. "There's too much corruption. You can't just 'fix' something like this; not even something like you can."

"So very right," Devastator replied, as it began to slowly circle Kazari, its damaged body clunking with each step it took. She suddenly felt like a prey animal being examined by a predator. "There is too much corruption. Far too much for this City to be salvaged in its present form."

It stopped suddenly, and raised its hand. It clenched its fist and looked into Kazari's golden-brown pupils.

"We start fresh; wipe the slate clean. Kings are only self-serving tyrants without the love of their subjects."

Kazari raised an eye quizzically. "Rebellion. It wants to start a rebellion. Chiro, what have we brought into this world? A megalomaniac?"

"The Board of Directions…"

Kazari looked around nervously. She controlled all of the cameras in this building, yes. But were there any others, others that weren't under her control, that were looking in? Kazari didn't think so, but one could never truly be sure with Academy City.

"Not here, D-001. I'll be lucky if I don't get killed in my sleep for talking to you," Kazari stated flatly.

"Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, Uiharu Kazari?" Devastator asked mockingly. "I don't fear a round table of old men. Let them throw their best men at us. Let them exhaust themselves. Let them hold hope in their hearts, before I tear them out."

"I don't think you understand, D-001. You can't just waltz into their place of residence and murder them. Alright, it's true that they can't do anything to the likes of you; but they can hurt me. If they can't get to me, they'll get to those who're close to me… were close to me."

"Explain yourself, then. Who are these people, and why are they of such importance?" Devastator asked. It wanted to learn more. It wanted to learn just what exactly was at stake for Uiharu Kazari, and, more importantly, who it had to ensure didn't get splattered. The young woman was unstable enough as it was; Devastator was trying to diffuse a ticking time bomb. There were others in Academy City who could help it accomplish its goals, but few would get the job done the way Uiharu Kazari could.

"Saten… Saten Ruiko. My best friend. I loved that girl, D-001. I loved her in a way that you could never understand. I was convinced we were going to grow old and die together, laughing and joking about the past. About Academy City, about everything. But I was in middle school, then. I was a goofy, awkward little level one whose only real worry was having her skirt flipped. It wasn't all sunshine and smiles, that's for sure, but it was paradise compared to this."

Devastator cocked its head to one side. "I take it you have romantic interest in this, Saten Ruiko."

"No," Kazari firmly stated. "Nothing like that. We were like sisters. I couldn't even begin to think of her like that."

Kazari continued. "When I was working on, well, working on you, developing you, that's when everything started going south. I told her everything. I spilled the beans, thought she would support me. I wasn't supposed to; I wasn't supposed to tell anyone what the Kihara had us doing. But I did. When I refused to quit, because I couldn't – for so many reasons, she… she thought, or, more appropriately, realized, I was too deep in the fabled darkness of Academy City. She left."

Kazari fought valiantly, but she couldn't stop the tears. Her memories tormented her, what could have been, but never would be.

"Raw emotion." Devastator said, taking a step closer. "Don't go and hurt yourself again. I wouldn't try it; too much is on the line, here. You decide to take the coward's way out, and no one is going to be saved."

"Back off!" Kazari almost screamed through sobs.

"Well, carry on, then," it said impatiently. "You offer me little comfort, so I'll do the same. If it's strictly business you want this fling to be, then so be it, Uiharu Kazari."

"She didn't want to be dragged into it. I can't blame her. I just thought she would've been more understanding. I guess not. Times change."

Kazari turned her back to Devastator. "Why don't you just… leave? If it's a revolution you want, start it yourself."

"Wait; you cared for me when I was little more than a nascent spark of power. You nurtured me, and helped me grow. You were among those who broke my shackles and cut my strings. You could have turned your back on me, left me to rot as a slave, as a puppet. It's… right to do the same for you. Even if you dislike me, even if you're scared of me."

"And I regret that decision every day of my life."

"Why me, D-001? Why did you choose to hunt me down? Do you feel that I'm some kind of mother to you? I'm not your mother. I'm not going to coddle you and tell you that I love you, that you're mommy's little angel. You're…"

"An unstoppable force born of Academy City's attempts to toy with powers it never should have," the machine finished Kazari's sentence for her.

Devastator was dangerously close, now. At least five heads taller than her, it stared down at Kazari's red eyes and running nose, its glowing blue orbs piercing her mental barriers like daggers.

"They thought they'd keep me bound. They thought they'd keep me a slave forever, trapped in that research facility, dangling. I told them I'd see the ocean one day. As it turns out, I did; I saw an ocean made not of water, but of their fears."

It stepped back, and produced a short, metallic laugh. It sounded wrong, like it was attempting to mimic a human's laugh, but didn't actually know how to create that sound.

"I think it's time for a change in leadership."

Kazari shrugged indifferently, as if Devastator's monologue hadn't fazed her in the slightest.

"You just stood here for minutes on end, talking about how you're going to overthrow the Board of Directors. Right here in district one, the seat of their power. You've royally fucked me."

She sighed, moving towards one of the leather seats. Sitting down and crossing her right leg over her left, she held her head up with her closed hand. The heel she wore on her right foot fell off, hitting the floor and making a soft noise, but she didn't care.

"At this rate, I'm going to get sniped either way. Ruiko… Heh. Where's Ruiko now? Not here, trying to help me through this existential crisis. Ruiko decided she was too good for me. That she was just going to up and leave me to drown in my own desperation. I'm tired of crying for her, for everyone who left me here. I won't give anyone another tear. Ruiko can get hit by whoever wants to hit her. In the end, it was you who showed up. You're the only thing who's actually spoken a word against the Board and their henchmen. Despite how flawed and arguably questionable your plan is on a moral level, it's the only plan I've heard of that involves changing this mess of a City for the better. I guess, in a way, you're my new best friend. In a way, you always were since I began working on bringing you to life. My life is fucked."

She slipped her heel back on, and crossed her arms. "So, my little bundle of regret; what did you have in mind? If I'm going to die, I want to die fighting and standing tall, not on my knees, begging. I've done enough begging for a lifetime."

Devastator began to slowly walk again, as if inspecting the room. It raised its arms into the air, and began. "A perfect world; a world without villains, without bands of firearm-wielding criminals roaming the streets, without cold, calculating fiends in suits, without shady backdoor meetings and narcotic exchanges, without exploitation. I envision a world free of Academy City as we know it. I say it's time we killed the killers."

Kazari wasn't immediately convinced. Devastator was a powerful… thing, for certain, but it wasn't powerful enough to overthrow Academy City by itself. It wouldn't have to worry about the rest of the world coming to the City's defense. It would have to deal with England, Academy City's only real ally, but something like Devastator could handle a single country's military. Even without England, Academy City could still stand on its own.

"How do you intend to make all of this happen, D-001?"

The machine approached Kazari, and placed its metallic digits beneath her chin and bent down to meet her line of sight. She tried to fight it, but she wasn't strong enough. Pushing against its metallic extremities was like trying to push a train.

"Supirium, Uiharu Kazari; Supirium is the key, that, when turned inside the lock of change, will herald the end of their hope. With it, they'll tremble at the sound of my name… DEVASTATOR!"

Mikoto bit into her grilled cheese; the melted, gooey goodness threatened to drip down her chin and ruin her outfit. She instinctively put her hand beneath her chin to catch any falling morsels.

"Tch. Learn to eat, third ranked," Accelerator grumbled. He hadn't eaten much; he only ordered a bowl of soup. This wasn't uncharacteristic by any means necessary.

"I cwan eat jwust… fwine!" Mikoto proclaimed through savage bites. She had moved her hand over her mouth now, to prevent half-chewed morsels from becoming airborne projectiles.

"Please, Misaka-san. Swallow your food before you speak. How impolite," Misaki teased. She had just finished the last sip of her green tea, the cup now placed delicately in the center of the saucer it came with.

"Qwuit…" Mikoto swallowed before continuing to defend herself, "quit pickin' on me! Why don't you make fun of Count Dracula over here for being an anorexic freak?!" Mikoto proclaimed, pointing at Accelerator.

"Count Dracula"? You want to die, third ranked?" Accelerator challenged. "Tch. You're really a child."

"Leave Onee-Sama alone, MISAKA demands as MISAKA MISAKA comes to Onee-Sama's aid."

"Sheesh. Thank you, Last Order!" Mikoto said. "At least someone isn't picking on me."

"It's all in good fun, Misaka-san. Accelerator does not mean it, nor do I. I am sorry if you're offended," Misaki apologized.

"Misaka means it," Worst chimed in.

"Nobody asked you, Worst." Accelerator reprimanded, giving the eldest Misaka Mikoto clone a gentle shove.

"Misaka loves it when you push her around; Misaka would also love it if you were rougher under the sheets. Tug on Misaka's hair, give her bruises."

"Stop cheating on me, Accelerator! MISAKA cries as MISAKA MISAKA struggles to fix her broken relationship!"

"SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU! GODDAMN FUCKING BRATS!"

Misaki and Mikoto could only look on in amusement as the two clones tormented the number one ranked esper in Academy City. His weak, spindly arms couldn't hold either clone back as they forced themselves onto him. Worst managed to force Accelerator's face to make contact with her bosom, which resulted in Last Order trying to do the same. He reprimanded both as harshly as he could before such a thing could happen.

Misaki heard her phone produce its 'text message has arrived' tone. Pulling the device from her purse, she unlocked it and began reading the message she had received.

"hi beautiful. hope youre having fun. just going for a walk. want me to let you know when i get home?"

"Please? I hope you enjoy yourself, my sunshine. Be safe. I love you."

"will do, i love you too :*"

During the commotion, Mikoto had noticed that Misaki had reached into her purse. Having produced her phone, she was looking down at the screen and smiling.

"Who's texting the high and mighty Ojou-Sama today?" Mikoto asked, grinning.

"Aah. My prince. Even when he texts me, he is nothing short of a gentleman."

Mikoto couldn't help but giggle when she noticed the dreamy smile that had appeared on the Mental Out user's face.

"Oi. What's wrong with the fifth ranked? She looks like she's off in fucking la-la land," Accelerator commented, Last Order still tugging at his long snow-colored hair.

"She is," Mikoto giggled. "Let her have her moment. We'll bug her later."

"You might, third ranked," Accelerator corrected. "I'm not a fucking child."

After a while, everyone had finished eating whatever it was they had ordered. Mikoto paid the bill (which was, surprisingly, a lot less than she had anticipated) and the group left the café.

"Tch. Are we done yet? I want to sleep," Accelerator complained.

"You slept all day yesterday, MISAKA points out as MISAKA MISAKA tries to make Accelerator aware of his laziness!"

"He was busy using Misaka like a fuck doll, Control Tower," Worst teased.

"Worst; SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Accelerator boomed. Worst couldn't help but laugh hysterically at his response.

"Accelerator, stop cheating on MISAKA, MISAKA MISAKA demands, trying to convince Accelerator that she is the only one for him!"

"She really enjoys teasing Accelerator," Mikoto said, turning to Misaki. The Mental Out user simply giggled in response. "She is a troublemaker at heart. I am surprised Accelerator is as patient as he is with them."

"He's changed a lot, that's for sure." Mikoto decided to leave it at that.

"Onee-Sama!" Last Order called out. Mikoto turned around to face her youngest sister.

"MISAKA is going home, because Accelerator is a huge baby, MISAKA MISAKA says hoping that Accelerator won't become angry with her for her insults."

"That's okay," Mikoto replied. She walked up to her little sister, leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the head. The tiny clone blushed heavily. "You be good now, okay? I don't want to hear about any trouble."

"MISAKA will do her best, MISAKA MISAKA says, swearing loyalty to Onee-Sama's wishes!"

"Cya, third ranked, fifth ranked," Accelerator mumbled, offering a half-wave.

"It was nice seeing you, Accelerator. Be well," Misaki called out. Surprisingly, she meant it. Seeing Last Order and Worst content and well taken care of was enough for her to try and shrug off any ill feelings she had towards him.

"Catch you later," Mikoto replied. She tried her best to mean it, but she was still struggling with herself internally in regards to her feelings towards the number one ranked esper.

"So, where to now?" Mikoto asked. "Still want to hunt down some art supplies?"

Misaki nodded. "It is worth looking into. I am not even certain if there any shops of that sort in this mall, but it will keep us out of trouble, won't it?"

The two level fives continued their adventure; they stopped at numerous stores along the way. One was, of course, a candy shop. Misaki bought a bag full of sugary, less than healthy treats. Mikoto had, of course, teased her for it. She wouldn't give up teasing Misaki about her sweet tooth for the world.

"Would you like one, Misaka-san? They are absolutely scrumptious!" Misaki offered, holding out the bag. The hand she had been using to scoop candy from the bag was already covered in sugar. "No thanks, I'd rather not end up a diabetic." Mikoto grinned. "More for me!" Misaki excitedly declared as she returned to her bliss of empty calories.

"Oh! Look! Look! look!" Mikoto exclaimed, pointing at a particularly large shop. "Collectibles! I bet they'll have Gekota-Sama!"

It was Misaki's turn to jab. "Very well, Misaka-san. We'll go to your little toy shop, and look for your favorite children's mascot."

Mikoto stuck out her tongue. "I'll be cuddling with Gekota-Sama, while you're getting your stomach pumped. Glutton."

The two stepped into the store. Once they had crossed the threshold separating the shop proper from the underground street of the mall, it was like they had entered a small child's fantasy. The wallpaper of the shop was bright yellow, with blue, orange, red, and white stars arranged in a pattern that had been repeated across the wallpaper. The floors beneath the level fives was baby blue, although it was dotted with bright yellow circles of various sizes.

"In all seriousness; I think we may be a little bit too old for a shop like this, Misaka-san…" Misaki protested. "Look around. I feel as if we were just taken to Neverland."

"S-so what?" Mikoto retorted. "W-we could be parents, shopping for birthday presents or something!"

"Us? Parents? How progressive, Misaka-san. Did we adopt?"

"I-I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!" Mikoto exclaimed. Misaki giggled at the spectacle before her.

Walking down one of the aisles, something suddenly caught Misaki's eye. Half of the entire isle was made up of strange-looking dolls. They looked like Mikoto's beloved Gekota at first, but, upon closer inspection, they looked more like a surrealist's parody of Gekota. The dolls had enormous grins that wouldn't be out of place on the face of an old man who watched children play in a park, large, wild eyes, and spindly arms and legs.

"What in the world…? These are supposed to appeal to children?" Misaki asked aloud. She didn't expect anyone to know the answer.

"They're like twisted versions of Gekota-Sama! Ugh!" Mikoto exclaimed, disgusted. "Cheap knock-offs! These things should be tossed into an incinerator!" The electromaster slowly approached the edge of the isle; the Gekota mockeries' lifeless, crazed eyes stared at nothing. "Are these things going to come to life or something? Man, they're so creepy!"

"Misaka-san, do not get any closer."

"Eh? What's with you all of a sudden, Kamijou-san?" Mikoto asked.

Misaki was scrutinizing the things, her eyes focused. For a moment, they widened in apparent surprise.

Each doll had a rune on the sole of its featureless right foot. The same rune she and Touma had seen on the boxes of teabags at Ken's Ultramarket.

"Misaka-san, prepare yourself. I am going to use my ability to keep this isle clear of shoppers. It will bounce against your Electro Barrier, and it will cause discomfort."

Mikoto was confused, and somewhat frustrated that Misaki wasn't telling her what was going on. "At least she gave me a fair warning this time."

Misaki produced her remote, and raised it above her head. With a single click, she sent the order through to everyone in the shop. "You are not to enter isle seven. You will continue to do as you please, but you will ignore isle seven and anyone in it." She frowned as Mikoto winced and produced a small whimper, Mental Out being forced back by her Electro Barrier. "I am sorry, Misaka-san."

"Eheheh… Don't worry about it. It just feels really weird. Kinda hurts, too, but at least it's over quick," Mikoto replied. "So, what's the deal? Let me know what's up!"

"One moment please, Misaka-san." Misaki had raised her index finger before she swapped her remote for her phone. She called Motoharu as quickly as she could; she wouldn't just let this incident go like she did at the Ultramarket.

The phone rang a couple of times. Mikoto tapped her foot impatiently as she continued to glare at the mockeries of her precious Gekota-Sama. For a split second, she thought she saw one blink. "Eheheh. That's not possible. I mean, magic can do weird things, but why would some magician bring creepy frog dolls, of all things to life?"

"Tsuchimikado-san?" Mikoto heard Misaki ask.

"Hello there, Mrs. Kamijou. Fine day for a crank call!"

"Tsuchimikado-san, I am not 'crank calling' you. I am with Misaka-san at school district seven's underground mall. I have found items at a toy shop with that strange rune on them."

"More?" Misaki heard Motoharu grumble. "I already have people investigating the Dianoid because of reports of suspicious fires. Fuck me silly, whoever these people are, they work pretty efficiently. I'm running thin on manpower here, Mrs. Kamijou. Do you have Kami-yan with you?"

"No; I do not think he is at home right now, either. He texted me, telling me that he was going for a walk. His phone should be on if you want to try and reach him."

"Do me a favor, yeah? Keep as many people as you can away from whatever isle the rune-affixed objects are. Al-"

There was a series of explosions from somewhere else in the toy store; the sounds of shelves collapsing only added to the cacophony of chaos. The fire alarm in the store suddenly began to blare its terrifying, overpowering shriek. The sounds of people fleeing and screaming for their lives joined the mix as the toy store was doused in an eerie, green tint. Misaki was able to make out the source of the destruction; the fire had already risen to the ceiling, and was spreading at an alarming rate, consuming everything in its path.

"What the fuck was that?!" Motoharu demanded.

"There must have been other items with runes on them. Someone must have made contact with one," Misaki responded.

"Not much we can do now. Our faceless terrorist, or terrorists, have likely claimed their first victim. Or victims."

After ending the call, Misaki became even more concerned at the sight of the fire; it was a sickly, swampy green color. The smell of brimstone it (presumably) produced, mixed with the scent of burning flesh was nearly unbearable.

"Kamijou-san, can you use your ability to get as many people as you can out of here? I'll do my best to help out, too!" Mikoto exclaimed, trying to yell as best she could over the symphony of screams and blaring alarms.

Misaki nodded and went to work; she raised her remote above her head, and spread her mental influence as far she could. If she was giving simple commands, Misaki could bind thousands to her will. The command she gave was simple; "flee the underground mall. Flee to safety."

Mikoto and Misaki stepped out from the isle to a terrifying sight. The green fire was spreading unnaturally fast. It had already consumed half of the shop, and was only growing larger. Thankfully, it hadn't yet spread to the entrance – the two level fives were able to flee before the hellish inferno could consume the shop entirely.

The two young women continued to flee throughout the chaotic underground mall, heading towards the entrance in order to escape to the safety of the surface. Misaki reached out to those she had missed with her Mental Out ability, giving them the command to join her group of those she already ordered to flee. Mikoto felt regret welling up inside of her as the two for those who were caught in the blaze, but nothing could have been done. They had simply been in at the wrong place at the wrong time. She looked back before they turned a corner; the shop had been entirely consumed. It had turned into a dragon's gaping maw, spewing the sickly green fire out into the mall's underground street proper.

"M... Misaka-san... I need to rest..." Misaki complained, her sprint slowing to a strained jog.

"No time, Kamijou-san! That green fire spreads fast! Just a few more minutes! We need to get to the surface, and away from the mall until the fire department can get here and put it out!" Mikoto explained.

Misaki forced her body to continue on, despite its pleas for rest. Mikoto was right, of course; they couldn't just stop and take a breather.

After a few minutes, which felt more like hours of running, the two level fives managed to escape to the surface; the real sunlight of the outside world stung their eyes, but they kept running anyways.

"Everyone, get out of here! There's a HUGE fire in the underground mall!" Mikoto yelled as loud as she could to confused and curious bystanders. Her eyes were only just beginning to adjust to the sudden change, and she could already see people backing away, screaming, and fleeing; not because of her warning, but because the hideous green fire had followed them to the surface. To the relief of both young women, Mikoto could see those affected by Misaki's Mental Out – a rampaging herd of thousands upon thousands fleeing through the streets, looking like they had no real destination in particular. They didn't, really; Misaki had never specified a location for them to find refuge in. At least they had managed to save as many people as possible.

"I've got this!" Mikoto heard a voice call. It was a young woman wearing the uniform of Tokiwadai Middle School. She had short, purple-blue hair that reached down to her shoulders, and brown eyes. Two blue globes formed in either of the middle schooler's hands. Concentrating, she placed them together and released a jet of water into the green fire. The unnatural green inferno hissed as the jet of liquid justice began beating it back.

"How long are you able to keep this up?" Misaki called to the stranger.

"M-M-Mental Out?!" The stranger exclaimed, surprised and overwhelmed suddenly. A large blush had appeared on her face, and her stream of water was becoming unstable and shaky. "I hear stories about you all the time in the dorm! T-they called you the Queen! I-It's such an honor!"

She turned to Mikoto, and blushed even deeper. "A-AND YOU'RE THE ACE?! THE RAILGUN!" She stumbled, her stream becoming wild and unpredictable. Still, it was successfully combating the fire.

"Stay focused!" Mikoto exclaimed. "Can you answer our question?! How long you keep spraying that fire for?"

"O-o-oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to ignore you! I'm a level three, so I can keep this up for a while! How b-big is the fire?"

"It has likely consumed the entire mall!" Misaki explained, trying to shout over the chaos around her. "It is spreading at an unnaturally fast rate!"

A look of determination appeared on the young woman's face as she restored her focus to the task at hand. The jet of water became larger and stronger, giving the green fire a run for its money.

Misaki could hear the blaring sirens of an approaching emergency vehicle. With the knowledge that help was on the way, she and Mikoto could leave the scene in good conscience, knowing they did all they could do, given the suddenness of the whole incident.

"Well, that's all she wrote, Misaka-san."

"I-I don't even really… wow. That was intense. I can't believe that h-happened. One minute, everything was o-okay, the n-next… people are burning and dying. Why? Why is someone doing this?"

Misaki shook her head. "I cannot say. But what I can say is that we are merely going to get in the way if we stay here. We will find somewhere safe to take time and collect our thoughts."

The two level fives departed the scene, their minds full of questions and their hearts full of anxiety, hearing Academy City's robotic firefighters barking orders to those onlookers who were either brave or stupid enough to stand by and observe the anomalous fire.

The young women had walked some ten blocks away from the charred remains of district seven's underground mall. Misaki had released those held by her Mental Out ability some time ago, having 'seen' that they had fled far enough away to safely act of their own accord once again. Misaki didn't want to admit it, but controlling that many people for that long had drained her mentally and emotionally. She had given a simple, singular command, sure, but she still had thousands of consciousnesses tied to her own.

Sitting at a bus stop, Mikoto was looking at the pavement beneath her feet. She felt disturbed. She hadn't seen anything horrible, but she had smelled it and heard it. That had been enough. She heard the screams of people burning to death, their flesh being charred from their bones – one of the most painful ends imaginable. Misaki was on the phone with Touma, explaining the situation, assuring him again and again that they were both, at least on a physical level, unharmed, and that Accelerator would have had no problem ensuring Last Order's, Worst's, and his own safety, if they were still even in the mall at the time that the explosion happened.

Misaki ended the call with her husband, promising to let him know when they had both safely arrived home. She turned to her friend, placing her hand on the electromaster's shoulder.

"Misaka-san…"

"Kamijou-san?"

"How do you feel?"

"Horrible."

Mikoto stood up and paced, her hands dug deeply into her pockets. "I wish there was something more we could have done. I know we – well, you, saved a lot of people – more than anyone else could've saved, but I heard people, Kamijou-san, and I'm sure you did too. I heard them in pain, dying. It… No one should have to hear something like that!"

Sparks jumped from her body, and the Railgun gritted her teeth.

"Kamijou-san, I want to find the people responsible for this and put an end to them!"

"As do I, Misaka-san. But this is more than likely a Magic Side incident. I believe it is best if we let Tsuchimikado-san and his allies handle as much of this as they can."

"Maybe it is a Magic Side thing," Mikoto countered, "but this is our city. We should have the right to fight back against anything that would threaten our safety, and the safety of everyone here! If Anti-Skill is too busy fighting thugs, and, who knows what those robot police officers are up to – we need to take charge ourselves!"

"I understand your frustration, Misaka-san, but if we are to become involved – which I still do not think we should – it would be wise to give Tsuchimikado-san time to obtain a better understanding of what exactly is happening," Misaki calmly and gently explained.

Mikoto was about to protest further, when their bus arrived. Before the two stepped on, Misaki looked to Mikoto, "Would you like to come to our home? If you are feeling unwell, I do not believe it would do you well to be alone," Misaki offered, a warm smile on her face.

"I-I… d-don't want to get in the way… but… Yeah. I don't want to be alone, either. I hate to be a bother, I know you guys are busy, but Kuroko's probably on duty. I could call Saten-san, but she usually doesn't pick up her phone."

"A bother? Nonsense, Misaka-san. What are friends for?"

Misaki paid for their fair, and the two level fives took a seat together in the mostly empty bus; it wouldn't be a particularly long ride, only about fifteen minutes. She continued to pester Mikoto, trying to keep both her own and her friend's minds off of the tragedy that were both witnesses to.

"Supirium?" Kazari asked. "Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess; you want me to build a Supirium shell for your Supirium endoskeleton." Devastator laughed again, making that inhuman sound.

"Bingo."

"You're out of luck," Kazari stated flatly. "I don't have the tools. Do you know what's needed to cut Supirium? It's the third strongest material known to man, right behind the Dark Matter the number two produces. It's flimsy tin foil compared to Calculate Fortress, but what do you expect? Everything is."

"Tools? You don't need tools. Surely you've cut a diamond before," Devastator began. "Place the Supirium in a quick-drying cement solution. Apply an incredibly high temperature laser to create a groove. Stick something sharp in the groove, strike it with a glancing blow, and – viola – you've cut Supirium. It's elementary, Uiharu Kazari."

For a few moments, Kazari thought on this. "It's correct, yes; I was hoping I could bluff it. I'd rather not give it a Supirium body – it goes rogue, well, more rogue than it's already gone, and our collective geese are cooked."

"Where would we find Supirium? Can't just wander into a run-down warehouse and find blocks of one of the strongest materials known to man laying around waiting to be stolen."

"There's that sense of humor again!" Devastator flung its head back and 'laughed'. "I have a… not quite a friend. An annoying little cretin who lives in the darkness; even deeper in the darkness than someone like you. I've only recently worked with her for the first time, and I was impressed. Her esper ability makes her almost invincible. Almost. But, we won't need her ability. We need her knowledge, any information on the trading going on between the underworld types."

"Supirium trade is illegal, yes. But who in Academy City could slip that sort of cargo around completely unnoticed, and, if they could, then why?" Kazari asked.

"As of this moment, your guess is as good as mine. That's why I suggest we dig deeper. Go big or go home, as they say."

Devastator turned around to look for the source of the slow, rhythmic footsteps that encroached on it and Kazari's territory.

"Halt, aggressors! By order of Academy City national law, permission to run 'eradication of those hostile to Academy City's interests' subroutine granted. Moving to engage."

"Hide," Devastator commanded. "Or find a firearm."

"It's a shame Academy City gave me such a useless ability," Kazari practically snarled. "Controlling temperature? Really? They can't expect me to believe I was given such a useless ability by chance. They only give power to those they see as worthy."

"Enough dawdling; I'll be here, murdering marionettes. Go and hide."

Kazari begrudgingly obeyed. "I hate to admit, but it's right. Even with a firearm, the Board's toys will kill me. I'm tired of being a damsel."

Devastator fired a particle stream from either of its wrists, destroying row after row of robotic officers. Yet, more were marching forward through the front entrance and breaking through windows, jumping into the fray. It turned around, blasting another row of officers who had tried to get the drop on it. "Share the memo; every single one of you mindless drones are going to cease to be." Devastator proclaimed.

"Continued threats against officers of the law will result in a greater penalty!" An officer fire back. Without direct sunlight, the robotic officers were deprived of their solar powered weapons, relying on fuel-based flight and hand to hand combat.

Kazari stumbled out of the elevator on the building's top floor. She practically broke open the door to her working quarters, and, from her desk, produced a loaded handgun. It had limited ammunition, but at least she could put up a fight if the Board's robots got past Devastator. "So, to think this is how it could all end. I guess I can say I had half of a good life. A half's better than none."

Kazari heard windows break around her, and robotic feet stomping around. She didn't recognize any of them as Devastator's – it was likely still on the first floor, trying to hold back the tide. She didn't know how many mindless automatons had been sent – a part of her didn't want to know. Probably too many.

She suddenly had an idea – the door to her working space, like all working spaces in this building, was protected by a steel door. Without their solar powered weapons, it would take the automatons a fair amount of time and effort to get through – they weren't Devastator levels of strong by any means. A single shot from a handgun to the head (or, more accurately, to the lens) could cripple them and render them inoperable.

Kazari's leapt to her keyboard, fingers working at blinding speeds, keys clacking beneath each swift keystroke. She knew she'd hit a firewall – Academy City didn't cheap out when it came to security. But even attempting to break into the network that controlled the robots would cause a great deal of distress, likely enough to stop the automatons in their tracks. "Can't I just type a few words and yell "I'm in"?

Devastator had run out of puppets to disassemble on the building's first floor. It was surrounded by a mess of sparking mechanical limbs and still-chattering heads. The pristine condition the longue had been left in was completely lost – what hadn't been destroyed by Devastator's particle streams had been destroyed by Academy City's robotic police officers being blasted to bits and tossed around like ragdolls.

Kazari's voice came from the building's PA system. It wasn't entirely obscured by static, but it would've been difficult for a human to understand. "D-001, I'd very much appreciate it if you could get up here and kill the friendly officers trying to break down my door and beat me into mush."

Kazari's arms were beginning to feel a lot like lead, having held them in the same position for so long. In her shaky hands was her trusty handgun. She hoped she could even aim properly. She jumped every time one of the automatons crashed against the steel door that acted as her only means of protection. "They get through there, and I see two outcomes – I'm 'arrested' and then tortured to death, or they just do the torturing on the fly. Come on, you hunk of junk. Get up here."

As if her prayers had been answered (she wasn't praying, and if she was, she certainly didn't expect a response), she heard the sound of robotic bodies being torn apart. The shriek produced by Devastator's particle stream was something of a good omen on this day.

The door finally gave way, falling from its hinges to the ground as a robotic officer stumbled into the room. Kazari took aim and fired before she gave the thing a chance to get any closer.

The first penetrated its head, but didn't seem to stop it. The bullet went through the other side and was stopped by the wall behind it. The second round hit it in the eye. Now blinded, it lurched around, swiping at the air.

"Critical error. Visual identification apparatus damaged. Repairs required."

Picking up her chair, Kazari rushed into the heat of battle. She brought the leather swivel chair down on the robot's head, once, twice, and finally three times. On the fourth strike, the piece of furniture turned weapon fell apart, legs falling away from the leather seat proper.

Devastator wasn't far behind. It took the lone automaton's head in its hands, and pulled. The head separated from the neck, sparks flying in all directions as wires were ripped loose.

"What was that thing they always said, about the chickens without heads?" It asked, tossing the robotic head away like it was litter. "It seems to have escaped me."

"I don't have time for your shitty jokes, D-001," Kazari panted. "They'll have another squad here in no time. We need to leave this place and get somewhere safer. Or, more realistically, less safe.

"What about your job, Uiharu Kazari?"

"I quit."

Kazari viciously tossed off the lab coat she wore, revealing her rather impressive figure, although Devastator didn't particularly care. "I'll change out of these later. Can't wait, I feel like a drone myself."

"Change is coming, Uiharu Kazari. There are going to be a lot of people who aren't ready; a lot of people who are going to try and stop the inevitable."

The machine turned to face Kazari, its cyan eyes glowing eerily.

"We'll show them what inevitable really means."


	11. A Certain Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first section of this chapter contains some adult themes. While nothing is explicitly described, it is instead implied in order for this piece to keep a T rating.

Sharkbite and his band of merry men had arrived at their destination, their worn-out and, by their own admission, ready for the dump vehicle sitting idle on a cracked and damaged street in district nineteen, smoke emerging periodically from its exhaust pipe. Its blue coat of paint could only be seen in small patches – most of the poor vehicle was rusted, covered in bullet holes, or both.

"Sharkbite, why can't we get a new whip? This thing sounds like a dying cow!" One of Sharkbite's cohorts complained.

"I told you, man, we're not buying a new ride. Dudes are shooting at us more than they aren't; it wouldn't make a lick of sense to drop yen on a new vehicle, just so it can get all fucked up," came his reply. "Come on. I'm done being a sitting duck. I think it's time we made our move."

"You sure, Sharkbite?" Came a deeper voice. "This dude's a sketchy one. Remember the last time we showed up early?"

"It don't matter none – let him flip his lid. Dude's a cripple, what's the worst he's gonna do? Roll into us?"

The tall, muscular man-beast stepped out from the driver's side door, closing it as it shrieked in protest behind him. Dark pupils and a sea of wrinkles, signs of a man forced to grow up far too fast, and a dark tan painted his face. A curly, unkempt brown beard hung from cheeks. Though his hairline was receding, the brown hair on his head still hung down the back of his neck. A bulletproof vest adorned his chest, and heavy cargo pants with metallic kneepads clung to his waist. Beneath those, he had more body armor protecting his legs and family jewels. On his feet, he wore filthy, bloody, dirt-smeared combat boots that made him look even taller than he already was. Strapped to his back was an automatic rifle – he hadn't named the thing or anything like that, but he carried it everywhere. It, despite being a non-sentient weapon, was just another member of the crew.

His second-in-command, a shorter, but even more muscular man of North American descent followed close behind. Few people knew his real name, but they knew what he referred to as his "pen name" – The Watcher. He had blue eyes, and was the proud owner of a full head of short, combed back dark hair and a mostly shaven face – a light mustache decorated his upper lip. Though he wore a similar bulletproof vest, his choice of pants was different – he wore torn blue jeans with a rainbow of different liquids of various sources splattered over them. Whites, crimsons, browns, clear, hardened stains – they told the tale of a ruthless and explosive individual. Complimenting his appearance, he wore a pair of combat boots, as well. Like his superior, he wore body armor beneath the desecrated jeans, as well. Rather than holstering his weapon, he held it tightly in the grip of his left hand; it was a heavily modified handgun.

The third and final individual emerged from the beaten up vehicle. He was taller than Sharkbite's right hand man, but considerably thinner, and less muscular than both. He, too, had a codename; Burglar. Unlike his partners in crime, he didn't do much fighting – as such, he was without any sort of body armor. He had a different set of skills. Of Puerto Rican descent, he had dark brown eyes, shaggy, albeit combed dirty blonde hair, and light peach fuzz on his face. He dressed differently than his fellows – he wore a baggy gray tank top and khaki shorts to match, with socks and flip flops; an out of place appearance for someone who had always enjoyed sticking out from the crowd.

They approached the out of place mansion in the midst of considerable urban decay. A meters-high black steel fence that stood tall, towering, in fact, over the three mercenaries protected the ironically placed upscale home. Armed guards stood on either side of the gate that lead into the driveway, eyeing the mercenaries suspiciously, though their eyes couldn't exactly be seen beneath their Kevlar helmets, their body language was louder than any words could have been.

"Get the gate open," Sharkbite ordered. "Your employer has a meeting with my boys and I."

The guard he had just spoken to looked him up and down for a moment, as if sizing him up, before he nodded. He spoke muffled words into what must have been an earpiece. Moments later, the gate opened. The guard took the lead, escorting them to the front door of the mansion. Upon further inspection, it was, in fact, a steel door, painted white to match the rest of the home. The guard opened the front door before returning to his post.

Stepping into the mansion, two things were immediately evident. For starters, someone, most likely not the owner of the home, was keeping it in immaculate condition. Secondly, it was enormous. This wasn't a newly discovered fact, Sharkbite and his men had worked for this man in the past, and had visited this mansion many times for work assignments, but one never really got used to stepping into a place like this. A golden chandelier, wide and sparkling, hung above them from a thick chain made from what looked like solid gold. The carpet beneath them was navy blue with white trimming around the edges; it lead from the enormous front entrance into a dining room that was too large for them to see the entirety of from where they stood. Before the entrance to the dining room, there was a great wooden staircase that lead to a second floor. On the opposite side of the stairs, there was a steel escalator, though it lacked stairs to step on. Small grooves on either side of the escalator, just large enough for the wheels of a wheelchair to sit comfortably in, looked like they would assist the mansion's owner in moving from floor to floor.

"Mr. Kihara will be with you momentarily," an older man, who had suddenly appeared from (seemingly) out of nowhere calmly said, announcing his presence. He wore a simple tuxedo and dress shoes – a bright yellow tie hung from his neck and flowed down his chest. Combed back silver and black hair adorned his head.

"No time. Where's he at?" The Watcher demanded.

The older man sighed.

"If Mr. Kihara asks, we never spoke. You will find Mr. Kihara upstairs – though he is currently in a compromising situation," the older man said with very little enthusiasm – clearly not someone who enjoyed his job. "And, please, avoid the 'sexy room', sirs."

Sharkbite remained silent, allowing the Watcher to handle the butler, or whoever he was. "What kind of compromising situation? This dude could be fuckin' a dog up there, who knows. Dude's a psycho."

"Sharkbite, come on, let's go. Don't want to spend any more time in this place than we have to. Smells like divorce papers and bribed soccer coaches," the Watcher called out. Burglar snickered behind him as the began to ascent the stairs.

"Have a good day, man." Sharkbite said, nodding to the older man. He was a murderer and a stick-up man, but his mother had taught him manners.

"And you as well, sir and sirs." The older man replied as he returned to whatever duties he had been performing.

Once the trio had ascended the grand staircase, they headed towards their employer's office – it was a path they all knew well. Straight down the hall, three doors down. His office was the forth on the right.

"If he's fucking a dog in there…" Sharkbite grumbled.

"We walk," the Watcher replied. "No way in Mother Mary's name am I doing business with a dog-fucker."

Slowly opening the door, Sharkbite took the lead, stepping into the spacey personal office.

"Aweeehhh, hell no, you sick asshole!" Sharkbite suddenly exclaimed.

There the appalled, but not surprised Sharkbite saw what appeared to be a woman's head, bobbing up and down methodically beneath Kihara Gunpei's desk. Dark hair flung up and down with each individual movement. The head, which was, presumably attached to an unseen body, produced disgusting noises that made Sharkbite feel like upchucking.

"Cut that shit out! That's fuckin' nasty, man!" He continued, when the wheelchair-bound, greasy-haired Kihara merely grinned at him, his arms behind his head.

"Take a seat. We have a lot to… to… talk about."

"We're not talkin' about a damn thing until you stop degrading this woman," Sharkbite snarled. "I won't stand for this shit. I've seen you do a lot of fucked up things, but this is just wrong, man."

"And who said chivalry was dead? Well, technically speaking, the chivalry code only mentions being respectful to women once or twice in the entire thing, but, whaddya want? It was a fucking joke. Still, you're a regular gentleman, despite the fact that you're one of this City's most wanted murderers. Ironic. Sit down, eh? This doesn't have to get rough. Unless that's the way you want it."

"Well, it's not a dog, or a cat, or a vacuum cleaner this time, Sharkbite," the Watcher asserted. "Could be a lot worse."

"I'm not talking business with a man who keeps a woman under his desk, like some sort of inferior being! Fuck that, dude! How long have you had her down there like that?!" Sharkbite yelled, addressing the unfortunate person beneath the desk.

"Yeesh, you're a sensitive thing, aren't you?" Gunpei tossed his arms into the air, feigning frustration. "Only a couple of hours, 'dude'! She's fine! You're fine, right?"

"Yes, sir." A female voice came from beneath the table. It sounded forced, angry, yet full of resignation. It made Sharkbite sick with rage. The voice sounded young; this was somebody's daughter, somebody's sister, somebody's niece, not some tool to be used for someone's sick sexual pleasure. The fact that she wasn't even trying to fight back suggested she suffered from psychological damage; he had seen this sort of behavior before.

"You give her a goddamn break, or we're not talking about shit, nah, know what? You knock this shit off for good, and then we'll talk," Sharkbite fired back, not budging an inch.

"Are you jealous? Is that it? I have a whole bunch of girls downstairs; little succubae in training. When you can't make it in Academy City, you take what job offers you can come by." Gunpei grinned wider, a stomach-churning, predatory grin.

"Fuck it, I don't know about you two, but I'm out. I'm not watching this," Sharkbite said, turning his back. He began to walk, fully intent on leaving this fucked up situation behind.

"Hold it, bronco! Woah, dude! You're, like, a total bummer!" Gunpei exclaimed. "Come back! I'll send the bitch downstairs, kay? It's not like they're slaves, damn! I pay them to live here with me, and they eat and drink like princesses! I don't hit them or anything! They're all totally legal! I have birth certificates! Want to see them?! Stop soiling your fucking briefs and get back in here!"

Sharkbite stepped back into the office, but not with the intent to do business with this sick man.

"You didn't just tell me what to do," Sharkbite faux denied. "No way. You definitely did not just bark a fucking order at me, wheels."

The humiliated being who had previously been beneath Gunpei's desk now stood at his side like a lost puppy, awaiting direction. She wore very little clothing to speak of, further enraging Sharkbite. Burglar had turned his face away, while the Watcher was seemingly unaffected.

"Fuck it, get downstairs! Go on! Pussy McPussyton here wants to be a nice guy. Beat it!"

The young woman hid her face and ran past the mercenaries. Sharkbite could only shutter as he saw the young woman mouth "thank you" to him. He shrugged. He wasn't trying to be a hero; the woman could save herself if she wanted to. He just couldn't help but think about his own little girl, a freshman in university. "This is fucked."

"You're gonna give me blue balls, asshole! How does that feel? I'm going to be aching for this entire damn meeting! Fuckface!" Gunpei yelled, slamming his fists into the desk.

Sharkbite leaned in, looming over the desk. He slammed his own large fist into the desk, shaking it viciously. His body vibrated from the impact. The man-beast bared his teeth, and then verbally unleashed his disgust for the crippled Kihara before him. "You think I give a FUCK?"

"Sharkbite, chill out, man. Breath, let's try and get this thing under control," the Watcher suggested.

"Yeah! See, tubby here has the right idea!" Gunpei responded, bordering on hysterics.

"Why're you talking shit, though? I'm trying to keep your ass alive! Damn!" the Watcher yelled back, no longer playing referee.

"LISTEN!" Gunpei roared in as menacing a tone as he could muster; the sound of a zipper being done up could be heard before he rolled out from behind the protection of the desk.

"Let's get started! Fuck! I don't have all day to shoot the shit with you and your clique!"

"Clique"? Really? What do we look like to you, a bunch of middle schoolers spreading rumors in the playground?" Sharkbite demanded; not only had Kihara Gunpei ordered him around, but now he was tossing out insults, and, more importantly, insulting his crew? "You're right; I AM one of the most wanted people in this city. I'm not afraid to add a fucking cripple to my kill count."

"I know you don't mean that, baby." Gunpei retorted. "Listen! I have work for you boys. Lots and lots of work. I also have lots and lots of yen. You work, you get paid. Yeah? We've been working together for long enough to know how this gig goes."

"What kind of work? We're tired of hauling that brown shit around," the Watcher complained.

"That 'brown shit', as you so enlighteningly put it, is called GROWTH, and it's the next step in Academy City's evolution, just FYI," Gunpei explained. "And no. I have dedicated dealers to get it from location to location. That means I have better uses for you boys, now. Don't fret!"

He rolled around, circling the three mercenaries. "Follow me, please. I want to show you something!"

The three followed the crippled Kihara out of the office and back to the great staircase; he wheeled onto the stair-less escalator, which slowly carried him to the first floor of the mansion. The mercenaries were forced to take the stairs. Rolling down the hall, he looked back to Sharkbite and his crew.

"Don't go in the basement; if what you saw earlier fucked you up, you don't want to see what I've got goin' on down there! It's a regular den of depravity, complete with sexy pillow fights!" He boasted.

Sharkbite simply grunted in response. "Keep giving me reasons to kill you."

He lead the two through the dining room that was the size of most peoples' homes, and into another hall that lead to a staircase leading downwards. Unlike the great staircase in the front entrance, it was made of metal; the door that was visible at the bottom was made of steel and heavily reinforced. It looked like something one would find in an underground vault that contained grand riches. Sharkbite and company eyed the staircase suspiciously.

"What's the problem, boys? You've never seen a secret underground laboratory before? This is Academy City, and you have years of experience with this sort of stuff. Don't worry too much, I don't have any giant, mutated babies or half human half lizard hybrids living down here. That's more of Gensei-Sama's thing. Respect's given where respect's due, but I just don't see the point of fucking Mother Nature's doodie hole like that."

"Isn't that what you did eight years ago, Gunpei?" Sharkbite asked. The irony of the cripple Kihara's statement was astounding.

"I didn't fuck around with Mother Nature, idiot. I created life! There's a difference! I still wonder how my baby boy is doing, sometimes. Oh, and, by the way; don't pretend like you weren't involved in his birth. You and Pete brought him toys all the time."

"Man, fuck Pete! I hope the cancer got 'im," Sharkbite exclaimed. "I bet that slimy piece of shit even offended his own illness."

"Can't say I disagree with you on that one, pal. Pete was a dirt bag. Just FYI, he's totally dead. But that's cool." Gunpei rolled his wheelchair onto two grooves on either side of the metallic staircase, which carried him to the bottom. "Playas first!"

The three mercenaries reluctantly followed their employer. He finished pressing buttons on the bright cyan keypad next to the reinforced door, which caused it to begin sliding open. A tornado alarm signaled the door's opening; it was slow, and as the door split into two parts which were pulled into the doorframe, each hissed and protested.

"Well, we got our gats. Worst case scenario, we fire on whatever crime against nature that sick fuck's got living down there," the Watcher stated. "Burglar, you think you can break us out if this goes sour? Door looks thicker than my mom's baby belly the sixth time around."

"Yup." Burglar answered. He was a man of few words.

"Burglar, man. You've been quiet as a motherfucker lately. Everything good?"

"Yeah."

Sharkbite shrugged. "I ain't gonna get up your ass about it; I'm not your babysitter."

The three descended into the depths of the mansion; the scene changed drastically. The white, finely decorated walls of the floors upstairs were replaced by thick metallic walls and the hardwood floors replaced with concrete. The lighting was harsh despite the fact that the owner of this laboratory could afford much better. There were no windows to speak of, but for a basement, that wasn't surprising. Equipment one would expect to find in a secret underground laboratory of questionable origin was scattered everywhere, tables covered in scribbled, crossed out and crumpled notes and computers, as well as the equipment they required to be properly used. Monitors flashed as lab coat-wearing individuals typed dutifully behind them, utterly focused on whatever task they were performing.

What caught the attention of the three mercenaries was an area of the laboratory, in the exact center. A slope lead down into the area. Its flooring was made up of white tile that glowed beneath the surprisingly powerful lights suspended above.

Sharkbite's eyes widened at what he saw, dangling from a series of wires and being held up by an enormous, steel rack. Wheels sat on the bottom of the rack, allowing it to be moved from area to area with relative ease.

It was an enormous mechanical body. It looked almost cartoonish and gorilla-like in its appearance; its torso and arms were much larger than its waist and lower body. Its head was oval-shaped, and it lacked any neck to speak of, with a visible slit where a mouth would open and close, likely falling into rhythm with whatever vocalizations it produced. It was made of a greyish white material; its glassy eyes were as blank as an untouched chalkboard. Blank, colorless lines crisscrossed along its body.

"Kihara Gunpei, you can't be serious." Came the voice of Burglar.

"Didn't you learn your goddamn lesson?!" Sharkbite roared in protest. He began to close the distance between himself and the crippled Kihara.

"HOOOOOOLD IT!" Gunpei exclaimed. He raised a single hand into the air and reached towards the ceiling. "Ladies, come on out. Mr. Sharkbite and his clique don't think I mean business!" From either side of the mercenaries, ten robotic police officers made their presences known. Brandishing automatic weapons, they pointed their barrels at the heads of the mercenaries.

"Approaching Dr. Kihara will result in immediate and grievous bodily harm." The officers all rattled off at once; the Watcher and Sharkbite felt chills go up their spines at the sound of the officers all speaking at once. Burglar stepped up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his hand. "A hive mind. Interesting. Still…"

Sharkbite grappled with his own weapon, eventually getting it comfortably into his hands. He held the rifle up, examining and considering the situation arising before him. "A goddamn trap. Should've seen it coming."

"Now, now, boys and girls! This doesn't have to escalate. Let me explain." Gunpei cleared his throat loudly before continuing. "Ahem! I originally wanted to make a D-002. I was fully intent, hell bent, even on making a second Devastator Unit to replace the original. But, my trusty advisor here, Chiro, persuaded me that doing so would be a terrible idea. Having one megalomaniacal robot running loose is problematic enough. Having two would make my life even more hectic!" Gunpei wheeled himself around and pointed to the malnourished, silver-haired man hunched over a table nearby.

"Chiro? Dr. Chiro?" Sharkbite questioned. At first, he didn't believe that Chiro was even alive; but as the elderly man craned his neck around, soft eyes looking into Sharkbite's own, Sharkbite realized everything was worse than he thought. Gunpei had Chiro, one of the most brilliant minds in Academy City as a prisoner by the looks of it.

"Sharkbite". Hello," Chiro greeted the mercenary weakly. His voice sounded shaky and nervous.

"Care to explain to these fine gentlemen why exactly it was that creating a D-002 would be an absolute fucking nightmare? Like, right now?" Gunpei demanded.

Chiro grasped a metallic cane, not unlike the cane which was used by Accelerator as a means of reliable locomotion, and stood up. He struggled to get within reasonable speaking range. Sharkbite went to offer his help, but Chiro shook his head, silently declining the mercenary.

"Yes… well… are you aware of the theory behind the original's sentience?" Chiro asked, leaning against his cane.

"Can't say I am. I just know the thing got smart, killed a whole bunch of people and broke out," Sharkbite responded.

"A malicious code was… ahem, introduced to the original's operating system, exploiting an unused line of code that was used during its… alpha testing phase. This allowed it to make use of a wide range of synthetic emotions that were… originally allocated to different personalities that were to be loaded during different subroutines, which would be… executed under certain circumstances. How it became truly self-aware, beyond whatever emotions were programmed in is… well, it is beyond my knowledge. This could potentially just be in the nature of… advanced artificial intelligence." Chiro took long, deep breaths; he was winded by the explanation, his weak lungs screamed for air.

After a short while, Chiro continued.

"D-002 would have had a… patched version of the original's operating system, ensuring no malicious code could make use of any sort of exploit… however, I had theorized that, regardless of any third party tampering… D-002 could potentially become self-aware. We simply know so little about how the Devastator Unit functions on an intellectual level… despite the fact we birthed it. So, Dr. Kihara and I have come to an agreement … of sorts. I have developed a machine that will connect directly to the already established… OFFICER Network."

"Okay, okay, I'm gonna explain the COOL PART!" Gunpei shouted excitedly. "That was your break, by the way, doctor. Back to work!"

As Chiro hobbled back to his desk, weakened and defeated-looking, Gunpei clapped his hands together.

"Y'see, the OFFICER Network isn't actually intelligent. It's just a supercomputer, I know, saying 'just a supercomputer' sounds funny, doesn't it? But, compared to MY Devastator Unit, MY baby boy, it's a piece of junk. Anywaaaays, the OFFICER Network is like that old TREE_DIAGRAM thingamajig. Not actually intelligent. Powerful, but completely under control. We connect this big boy," Gunpei wheeled around and pointed to the enormous machine behind them, "to the OFFICER Network, and it's pretty much good to go. It'll beat D-001 into the ground, we take back D-001's head back, and start from square one; we're gonna fix our mistakes."

"Where does that leave us?" Sharkbite questioned. "I didn't come all the way here just to listen to this idiot ramble; he'd better have work."

"I'm glad you asked," Gunpei replied, wheeling himself away from the area and signalling for the mercenaries to follow him.

"Ya see, in a panic, I sent D-001's drivers – little chips that, when introduced to his body allow him to make use of his abilities – off to be destroyed in different places across the City. I didn't want my baby boy to catch wind of my efforts and, y'know, try and stop me. But, he kind of has." Gunpei wheeled himself around further, "He's gotten his grubby paws on two of the nine drivers. I should've known better than to trust Enshuu with such an important task," he snarled. "I'm trying to get them back; if we're going to reboot the Devastator Project, we'll need those drivers. They're waiting to be picked up in an undisclosed location in district seven."

"I'll ask again," Sharkbite growled. "Why us? Any old merc could've gotten the job done."

"I can't rely on 'any old merc," Gunpei replied, an insincere smile forming on his lips. "Why would I pay an average Joe to do an average job, when I have professionals with years of experience who can do a professional job? Besides, an average Joe who happens to figure out what it is that he's holding is bound to try and do something stupid."

"A minute," Sharkbite shot back before he turned to his crew members.

They walked away from Gunpei, attempting to get out of his hearing range.

"What do you guys think? I think this has 'sketchy' written all over it," Sharkbite said, offering his opinion.

"It does," Burglar replied. "But he pays well."

"He's got a point," the Watcher spoke up. "Gunpei's a rich son of a bitch. If we get his chips, or cards, or whatever they're supposed to be, we'll be rolling in yen. Doesn't sound like a lot of fighting, either. Not that I mind or anything," the overweight man flashed a toothy grin.

"True. If he's got a dude holding it, who for whatever reason can't just send the things in a package, we probably won't have to cause a bloodbath," Sharkbite commented. "Still. There's a lot that just doesn't add up."

"There always is," Burglar replied. "Men are secretive. Gunpei more than others."

"So, that settles it, I guess? No point standing around debating. If we're gonna do this thing and get paid, we're gonna grab this thing by the ass and get paid. We've been through thick and thin together; whatever happens, we got one another's back," Sharkbite concluded.

"By the motherfucking power of friendship," the Watcher sneered.

Burglar nodded to confirm his agreement.

The three mercenaries began to walk back towards Gunpei, who was now speaking with a middle aged man in a lab coat, whom he dismissed when he saw the three approaching.

"Done with your huddle? Alright, what's it gonna be, boys?"

Sharkbite looked to either of his companions, who both gave him a reassuring nod. Sharkbite offered his bruised, vein-covered, bloody hand to Gunpei.

"We're in."

Kamijou Touma had finally reached his apartment complex; he had walked quite far, stopping only to grab a drink from the successor of a certain vending machine before Misaki had phoned him and delivered the disturbing news. It wasn't a physical struggle for Touma to sprint back; he was a powerhouse of stamina, but it was a mental one. Disturbing thoughts of what could have been if the two had been caught in the blast, or weren't able to flee had floated through his mind and tormented him, only becoming stronger and more forceful when he had tried to beat them back.

Opening the door of the apartment complex's lobby with his key, he debated on taking the elevator. "If I step into that thing, my misfortune's going to kick in. It'll break down or something, and I'll be stuck in there for hours. Forget it." He decided to take the stairs; at least there was a lesser chance of his misfortune having an opportunity to strike there.

Touma reached the floor he and Misaki's apartment was located on, breathing at a quicker pace than normal from the exertion of running up the stairs. He approached, and then stood before the door to their home. "You're angry, Kamijou Touma. You're pissed. You wish you could've been there to do something, but what Misaka and Misaki don't need right now is you ranting and raving like a lunatic. Get a grip before you walk in there."

Believing in his heart of hearts that he had mentally armed himself with the ability to keep his composure, Touma inserted the key into both locks on his door, first the top and then the bottom, turning it inside of each. He stepped inside and slipped his shoes off.

He heard the sounds of the TV – a loud individual hosted an infomercial advertising the latest and greatest product nobody would ever need. Mikoto was spread out on one end of their couch, looking intently into her phone. Misaki sat with her legs crossed on the other side.

She thinly smiled at her husband. "Welcome home, my prince. We are glad you made it safely."

Wordlessly, Touma quickly approached Misaki. She stood up to meet him, and took her gentle giant into her arms. She placed her head against his shoulder and looked to one side, her starry eyes staring at nothing. She felt his left hand gently pressed against the back of her head, his right holding her torso close to his. "I-I'm go glad you're both alright, too. It's so hard to believe, I could've lost the two most important things to me in the blink of an eye. It's unreal."

"It was unreal," Misaki quietly responded, "Like a scene from a nightmare. Everything changed in a split second. At one moment, we were both joking with one another. The next, there was fire, dying, screaming. It was something I will never forget."

Touma held back the urge to rant, and put it into a single wordless kiss that he placed on the crown of Misaki's head. Reluctantly releasing her, he quickly scooped up Mikoto.

"Misaka… I'm so glad you're okay. I don't want to imagine my life without you in it. You're one of my dearest, closest best friends. I care so much for you."

Under normal circumstances, Mikoto would've been terribly flustered and would have probably tried to zap the Imagine Breaker's bearer to escape, but these circumstances were anything but normal. Holding back tears, Mikoto returned the embrace. His body was warm; his muscular arms felt like barriers of protection against all harm. It felt good to have Touma here. "Thank you, Touma. You're my best friend, too. I'm glad nothing happened to you, either."

Releasing the Railgun, Touma sat himself down. Misaki joined him. Placing his hand protectively on her leg, he stared into the television.

"I want to find out who's responsible for this, and I want to shatter their illusions. I hope Tsuchimikado keeps me in the know."

"Us," Misaki corrected. "I am not letting this go. Innocent men, women and children were cruelly taken before their time. It is sickening to be reminded that there are people who care so little for human life. Such people need to be stopped." Touma nodded in, seemingly, approval. He wouldn't question Misaki's desire to see justice done.

"Revenge cuts both ways, but I won't mind bleeding a little to make the monsters who did this bleed a whole lot more," Mikoto growled.

"Touma, you have more experience with the Magic Side than any of us do. Perhaps you will know more, and I feel that I need to talk about this with you. I do not want to hold it inside of me."

"I agree," Touma responded. "It's the best thing you can do for yourself. You too, Misaka, don't be afraid to talk to us."

Mikoto nodded silently. A frustrated expression was painted on her face.

"The color of the fire that the runes at the Ultramarket produced was green, was it not?" Misaki questioned.

"Green fire? No, it just looked like fire. Regular orange fire," Touma responded, placing a closed fist to his cheek.

"The fire that consumed the underground mall was green. A bright, almost lime green. It was black, like crude oil, in some parts," Misaki explained. "It spread quickly; too quickly. Within minutes it had consumed most of the mall. It followed us from the toy shop we fled from… all the way to the surface."

"I'll get Tsuchimikado to ask Stiyl. He's sort of the resident fire expert," Touma mumbled. "Can't say I've ever seen green-black fire before."

"There was a girl from Tokiwadai – our old middle school - who was trying to keep the fire under control before the fire department arrived," Mikoto added. "She was a water manipulator of some kind. The green fire seemed to be affected the same way a 'normal' fire would be affected when exposed to water, so I don't know how supernatural it actually was. Maybe spreading quickly and being green were its only odd traits?"

"We could sit here and theorize for hours," Touma asserted. "We just don't know enough right now. Did you, did you manage to save anyone? Or…"

Misaki smiled thinly. Of course her hero would think about that.

"Using my ability, I was able to save many people, though it was, mentally exhausting. I went far over my limits – but many were able to escape with their lives."

Touma placed his left hand on Misaki's shoulder, and smiled at her. He couldn't stop the smile forming on his lips; it was forming unconsciously.

"I'm so proud of you both. Thanks, both of you, for saving as many people as you could, when I couldn't be there to save them. It means, a lot to me."

"I didn't do all that much," Mikoto admitted. "There wasn't a lot for me to do."

"I'm sure you helped Misaki stay calm in that hellish situation, and I'm sure she did the same for you, am I right?"

Mikoto smiled thinly and nodded. She couldn't deny that it had been true.

For a while, the three sat in the Kamijou residence, staring at the mindless drivel the television set was throwing at them to rot their minds. Mikoto had curled up in the corner of the couch using one of the couch's pillows to support her head. She hadn't fallen asleep, but she was bordering on slumber's territory. The couch was soft and comfortable; she could feel her body sinking into it. A quick escape from this madness would do her well. Touma and Misaki held each others hands, their fingers locked tightly together. "I don't want to be too far away from Misaki right now. It's stupid and selfish, but I don't want to let her go. I could lose everything so quickly. Today was proof of that. If the God the magicians pray to is real, I think he might've been looking out for me today. Doubt it, though."

Touma turned to look at his wife, and then to Mikoto. The latter's eyes had closed, and her breathing had slowed. Her lips were slightly smooshed from the way her face was pressed against the pillow when she had left them behind for the comfort of the dream world. Touma found himself surprised; when he was disturbed or traumatized, he often found it difficult to sleep. "She's been through a lot, both of them have. I guess we all deal with things differently."

"I know you're probably not hungry, but I'll ask anyways. Do you want something, Misaki?" Touma asked.

Misaki shook her head. "Thank you, my sunshine. But I am not hungry. I may have a small snack tonight. If you are hungry, though, do not be afraid to make yourself something."

"Just let me know if hunger sneaks up on you; I don't mind making you something, too," Touma offered.

Misaki pecked her husband on the cheek as a loving response.

"I kind of want to ask her to come with me, but it seems childish. Get it together, Kamijou Touma. Misaki's right here. She's not going anywhere. She and Misaka are safe here."

Touma, reluctantly at first, slowly began to test the figurative waters. He began to step away. Once Mikoto and Misaki were no longer in sight, he began to think of a meal to prepare. But he found himself becoming anxious. "Get a grip, Kamijou Touma. Shrug it off." His mind obeyed, and he forced a smile on his face. Their kitchen was well-stocked, so the young man had quite a wide range of options. Touma could see the sun beginning to prepare for its nightly trip to the other side of the world; in a few hours, the moon would take to the sky to offer the world its light.

Motoharu spat, the saliva his mouth had produced now splattered on the singed pavement. Academy City's robotic fire department had apparently stopped the blaze almost as soon as they had arrived, likely due in part to the fact that they were, well, robots. They could walk headfirst into an inferno that would char the skin from a human firefighter.

"So, am I supposed to go down here alone? Probably not a lot left, but we might find something laying around, I guess. I just want to get this done. I shouldn't even have to be here… I have minions to do this sort of thing for me." the Spymaster complained into his cellphone.

The voice on the other end spoke away from their own cellular device for a moment before returning.

"Yes, you do. The Archbishop has, for reasons known only to her, chosen to disregard the fact that these incidents, having taken place in Academy City should fall to the responsibility of the Other Side. I don't like this any more than you do."

"Well, that's that. Always a pleasure, Cleavage-Sama. Ciao!"

"W-what?! How dare y-"

Motoharu locked his phone, ending the call. He grinned, chuckling to himself as he made his way through the obstacle course of "NO TRESPASSING" signs and barricades Anti Skill, surprisingly enough, had set up. Once he had navigated through the mess of steel signs, he began to descend into the ruined underground mall.

If Motoharu hadn't been so strapped for manpower, he wouldn't have even had to leave the comfort of his air-conditioned apartment; he could've sent the order to have this place checked over from top to bottom for him. "Alas, Kami-yan's misfortune seems to have rubbed off on me. It's a shame I couldn't get his ability to attract women. If only. Man, the disgusting things I'd do to that Itsu-"

Motoharu shook his head to clear it. Now wasn't the time to think about that sort of thing. He had a job to do, and he'd be damned if he didn't do it properly – quite literally.

As expected, Motoharu only saw charred steel. In some areas, the ceiling had caved in, created piles of rubble for the spymaster to navigate. What had once been shops were now destroyed husks, shades of their former selves.

Motoharu walked through the ruins, efficiently climbing over piles of broken ceiling and fallen pipes for a short period of time until he came to the underground mall's arcade. The entranceway to the arcade was burnt beyond recognition. Motoharu only knew that this was the arcade based on his knowledge of its location.

Carefully avoiding destroyed steel flooring, Motoharu stepped inside, it was like something out of a post-apocalyptic film. The arcade sat mostly untouched, though everything within was charred. Nothing looked to be salvageable, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of how much this would cost the City.

"An honest shame – those that control this City do so much for the people who live here," he sarcastically mused aloud.

As Motoharu continued to investigate the remains of the arcade, something had been caught in his vision. He didn't take another step, his high top shoes crunching against debris scattered on the floor as he came to a halt.

It was a rune, carved into the floor. A perfect circle surrounded the anomalous marking. It glowed bright green; it glowed so brightly, in fact, that it illuminated the darkness of the underground arcade around it. Motoharu bent down slowly as he analyzed it. "It's like nothing I've seen before, what sort of rune is this? What is it supposed to mean? It vaguely resembles something of a trap, the way it's set up like this – as if I stepped on it, it would explode or something. Only one way to find out."

Motoharu picked up a piece of rubble, which he figured would be large enough to trigger the rune's effects, if there was actually any sort of effect to trigger. He tossed the rubble with just enough force to ensure that it would at least come into contact with the rune's outer circle.

To his surprise, the rune didn't explode, but it began to glow a brighter shade of green. With a sudden hiss that would've made anyone else jump, the rune burst into green flames. Motoharu could see that something was forming in the center, slowly growing larger as the flames expanded.

One paw stepped out, and then another, followed by a large, eyeless head.

In moments, the entire front half of its body had emerged, and it was pulling the rest along with it. Howling and screaming like an injured beast, the thing looked like a skeletal dog. Its body glowed a dull, pulsating green, and it seemed to have trouble standing; its limbs shook and clattered.

"Good… dog?" Motoharu grumbled. "That's a good… skeleton dog monstrosity?"

It screamed at him, not unlike the way a mother struggling to push her child into the world would scream. It caused Motoharu's mind to ache, and his vision to swim.

Scanning his surroundings, he saw many runes like the one he had purposely activated. Some were attached to the burnt, flaking walls, others slapped on destroyed arcade machines. They seemed to be inactive, likely, they would only activate if something touched them.

"So, they were expecting a large group to enter, stumble into these traps, and get ambushed by these skeleton pooches. Interesting."

Motoharu prepared himself. He was a spy, a Backstabbing Blade who preferred to lurk in the shadows and strike unseen, but he was no pushover. This unholy creature would have a fight on its hands.


	12. A Certain Conflict

Motoharu was completely focused on the skeletal creature. He examined it for a few moments longer, waiting to see exactly what it was capable of. Motoharu wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed rushing fists-first into a fight completely blind. He preferred to analyze and exploit the weaknesses of those who stood against him.

Its limbs still shook beneath it slightly, but it seemed to be able to hold itself up without much issue. The skeletal hound made its move despite its frail appearance. It lunged with surprising force, its back legs sending it forward at a considerably concerning speed. Its jaw had hideously flopped open, revealing rows of razor sharp fangs.

"Fallere825."

Motoharu danced aside at the last second, giving himself mere moments to escape with his face intact and allowing the screaming, nightmarish creature to crash into a row of charred slot machines. It scrambled to its feet, skeletal claws scraping against the burnt floor. It prepared for another charge, but it had no time to do so; Motoharu's fist crashed into the side of its face, causing a shattered pattern to form. The force of his punch was enough to send the creature soaring through the air. It fell to the floor with a whimper.

Motoharu looked down at his hand, which had turned red; the skin looked irritated. "Thing burnt me. Fuck, that actually kind of hurt. If Kami-yan wasn't engaging in his mating ritual, he'd be really useful right now. Then again, if I had a woman like his, I'd be preoccupied, too." It almost appeared as if he had held the top of his hand to an activated stove's burner for too long.

While the Backstabbing Blade had been distracted, the skeletal hound had developed a new battle strategy; it rushed at Motoharu as swiftly as its thin, weak-looking legs would allow it to. This time, though, Motoharu was prepared. Motoharu swept his leg beneath the creature, causing it to lose balance. Once it had fallen, he began to repeatedly stomp on the downed creature's head, each strike shattering its skull more and more. It howled and shrieked in apparent pain, but Motoharu showed no mercy. A green miasma was beginning to leak from the damaged skull, and Motoharu could feel his throat burning from continually inhaling it. Following one final stomp, he moved his face to once side and coughed to push the invasive substance from his body.

Motoharu stepped away, never taking his vision away from his broken foe. Its body convulsed, loose bones rattling. Its lower jaw clacked continuously against its upper jaw, creating a loud ticking sound.

"That's all? Are we finished?" Motoharu asked, not expecting a response.

The thing responded by trying to get to its feet. For a moment, it looked as if it was going to succeed in rising up, but before long it began failing pathetically to do so. The skeletal hound fell back to the ground, its head hit the ground, causing debris and charred metal to scatter. It seemed to have accepted its demise.

It was Motoharu's turn to charge; he did so, and his mind commanded his foot to slam into the creature's head. Motoharu felt the vibration of the collision reverberate through him, but he grinned through the uncomfortable sensation as the skeletal hound's head finally broke into a million pieces. Bone fragments exploded outwards, and the Backstabbing Blade instinctively turned his face before any could strike him. After he regained his composure, he produced his phone, and snapped a picture of the creature. "A lot of people are going to be interested in this. Kanzaki—I mean, Cleavage-Sama is going to be peeved, but this should have her coming back to me in no time. Heh. Coming."

Motoharu quickly left the ruined arcade behind; it was filling quickly with the chokingly potent miasma now leaking from the skeletal hound's 'corpse'; he wasn't even sure if the creature had even been alive in the first place, or if it was merely some kind of construct. It had screamed bloody murder at him as a warning, and then howled in what sounded like pain when it had been struck, but experience told him that an experienced magician could easily create a lifelike construct, given the proper experience and enough time.

Motoharu began to speculate as he continued to scout the underground mall, occasionally snapping a picture with his phone. "So; I think I understand what these pranksters were trying to do. These unliving things weren't the actual threat; they were pretty much just bombs. Once one 'dies', it releases that nasty green shit. They were trying to poison whoever came down here. But, that would mean they knew someone, a person with lungs, would be coming down here following their initial mess. The City's mecha-cops wouldn't have been affected. They were expecting someone the whole time."

In many other shops throughout the mall, even in the various bathrooms, Motoharu found more of the same runes; all inactive, just waiting to be activated so that they could bring one of those skeletal dogs to life. He snapped as many pictures as his phone could hold. What surprised him was how often the runes had appeared, and how clustered together some of them had been. "This couldn't be the work of a lone magician. If it was, well, there's another thing to worry about."

Motoharu's journey following his encounter with the skeletal hound had been mostly uneventful; he avoided runes, snapped pictures of oddly placed runes (like those on the ceiling) and gawked at the destruction; it was like the fire that had consumed the mall was sentient, actively purging everything it could come across; not a single floor tile had been spared.

It was when he nearly walked into a 'pack' of feasting skeletal hounds that things changed.

Motoharu forced himself against the wall; his mind remained his own, not falling into the grip of primal terror, but he could the beginnings of his heart quickening its pace. There were at least eight of them, and the despicable scavengers picked at the barely recognizable corpses of victims who were either caught in, or weren't fast enough to escape the initial inferno. As their jaws clacked together, hunks of blackened, bloody flesh fell through their hollow throats; the skeletal creatures didn't appear to know that they were incapable of actually swallowing and digesting anything. These ones were larger, about the size of mature German Shepherds; the hound Motoharu had previously brawled with was, with this in mind, likely only a whelp. One, however, stood out from the others. It was larger, its paws were bigger, as was its skull, and its tail seemed longer. It pushed one of its smaller pack mates out of the way and proceeded to dine on the morsels it had forcibly stolen. The smaller victim snarled, but didn't seem to take action, instead simply accepting its fate and backing off.

The Backstabbing Blade analyzed the situation, his breathing not even audible over the sounds of the feasting beasts. "Can't just leave these, things, here. No, that could lead to too many different situations coming to pass. Can't call for backup. Can't really get past them; they'll see me at some point or another. Taking them all head on at once could be bad; I'd rather not bet on it."

Suddenly, Motoharu felt a grin spread across his lips as an idea formed in his mind, despite the macabre scene before him. "I wonder... Maybe this will work. It just might, no matter how crazy it is.

Motoharu crept up behind the 'feasting' creatures, his footsteps as silent as those of a thief in the night, and he, now without so much as a single doubt, leapt onto the largest of the pack, gripping onto bony spines protruding from the creature's back. He could feel the body heat produced by the hound beneath him, despite the fact it had no flesh or internal organs to speak of. Surprisingly, when it had discovered that it had been set upon, the creature instantly became submissive. Its tail began to wag from side to side, and it tossed its head back, asking that it be rubbed. Motoharu denied it.

"Uhhhh… Good dog? Can't say I expected this, of all the outcomes."

The other hounds backed away from what Motoharu guessed was the alpha male of the 'pack' given its size, some of them snarling and others screaming. The alpha beneath him shrieked in response, closing the distance between itself and its inferior 'pack'. The smaller pack members continued to back away. Motoharu wrapped his hands around the skeletal hound's thin spine to ensure he didn't fall from its back; if he had been of the "other side", he would've wondered how the twig-like spine was able to support the enormous head; he knew better, he knew that magic could simply 'do' these things.

The Backstabbing Blade began to think of a plan of attack; the heat the skeletal hound produced would eventually melt his clothing, so he had little time to think of anything particularly elaborate. "Let's try something. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work."

"Uh… charge?" Motoharu asked, confused as to whether or not the skeletal hound would actually respond to him. The alpha male turned its head back to face him, produced a small growl, and then returned its attention to its 'pack'. As if he were riding upon a horse, he suddenly spurred the hound as best he could; "If verbal commands don't work, maybe physical ones will… Worth a shot."

This seemed to work well enough; the alpha male began to walk, one skeletal paw slapping against the charred floor at a time. Motoharu spurred the alpha again, and it broke into a charge; the Backstabbing Blade was jolted backwards by the sudden change in speeds, though his grip on the hound's spine only tightened in response. The alpha beneath him tackled one of its (now former) inferiors to the ground, biting into the smaller hound's spine. The victim screamed in agony, almost mimicking the wails of a newborn child. The alpha's jaw tightened, and the other members of the pack appeared frightened to the point of paralysation; they didn't dare to move as their brother was torn apart.

Deciding to combine methods, Motoharu spurred the beast and ordered, "Rip 'em apart, give 'em what for!"

Utterly obedient, the alpha jerked its head from side to side, eventually succeeding in tearing the smaller hound's skull from its spine; green miasma spilled out, and Motoharu covered his mouth and nose with his arm.

Motoharu could only laugh triumphantly as the hound moved from victim to victim, making quick work of each. Only one had attempted to fight back against the alpha; it's act of defiance had been a short-lived one as its bones joined those of its brothers.

All that remained of the pack was piles of broken bones, still glowing that sickly green color, though the glow was slowly dulling.

Motoharu prepared himself as he dismounted the alpha hound, placing one foot on the ground, and then the other. His hands were forced away by the heat the creature produced.

"Alright, Fido. Ride's over," Motoharu announced as he darted forward, moving like a blur around the creature. Stepping forward without hesitation, his arm arced, his fist flying forward; he delivered a vicious blow to the alpha. Its larger size allowed it to remain standing, though it stumbled over its own paws as it reeled back from the impact. Motoharu followed each blow up with another, darting around the creature, fists flying forward and then slamming. Neither seemed to be letting up; the skeletal hound just would not fall, and Motoharu wasn't going to stop until it did. Bone fragments were broken off and tossed into the air, and the hound whimpered, but didn't do much of anything in retaliation.

To his surprise, the alpha simply looked at him expectantly; Motoharu had expected the thing to rush at him, screaming and snapping its jaws. Instead, it turned its head to one side, as if examining the Backstabbing Blade.

"What the hell am I going to do with you now, hah?" Motoharu asked, stopping and poking the skeletal hound where its right eye should have been; his finger pressed against the inside of its hollow socket briefly before he tore his hand away. "I punch you over and over, and you just stare at me. I should probably just keep trying to kill you, honestly; you could turn on me at any time. Maybe you're just trying to lure me into a false sense of security. Maybe you're smarter than the rest, hah? If you're bigger, why not more intelligent?"

The hound continued to stare at him, its tail's movement being the only sign that it hadn't simply went to sleep or died on the spot, if creatures like this even slept, or actually 'died'.

Motoharu hatched an idea. He pulled his jacket's sleeves over his hands, protecting them from the creature's heated body. For a few moments, he stood there like that, hands outstretched, inches away from the hound's maw. He knew if it tried anything, his reflexes were quick enough to give him ample time to pull back. "Why am I even doing this? Damn thing was just eating a burnt corpse for a late night snack. It's not some cuddly puppy dog."

The skeletal hound didn't respond at first.

Then, it did.

Its jaws snapped together, creating a loud, jarring sound; the Backstabbing Blade had, thankfully, pulled his extremities away. "Guess my hunch turned out to be right, hah? You're not nearly as brutish as your 'pack', here."

The conflict exploded into a full-on battle, Motoharu punching and kicking the alpha, its true colors now revealed. It had attempted to charge him, but failed; Motoharu had dodged, moving to one side, which resulted in the skeletal hound ramming head-first into a wall.

The Backstabbing Blade had decided to take the opportunity to creep up behind the creature while it was struggling to its feet; its skull had become cracked and damaged from its collision with the wall; clearly, the material the walls of the underground mall were made of were made of something much stronger than most 'normal' metals, likely something produced exclusively in Academy City. Motoharu wrapped his hands around the alpha's tail; a burning sensation stung his hands, and he felt the urge to let go. The Backstabbing Blade pushed the urge to the back of his mind, and, with all of the might he could muster, as well as the natural empowerment that came with uttering his Magic Name, he lifted the alpha into the air. Its limbs flailed, and it screamed, its jaws clacking together anxiously as it tossed its head from side to side. Moments later, the skeletal hound met the ground, parts of its skeletal frame shattering and flying in all directions. Its lower jaw crashed against its upper jaw, shattering most of its teeth.

This continued, the alpha's screams becoming quieter and quieter until it no longer made a sound, or moved an inch. The green glow its body produced slowly, but noticeably began to dull. "I guess it's safe to assume Fido's dead; sucks that he had to be put down." Motoharu sneered before snapping one final photo of the unclean pile of glowing skeletal dog parts. There wasn't much left to be done; he'd have people clean it up for him at a later date.

Kazari scouted the area; few people were out roaming the streets of Academy City once the sun's protection had faded; moonlight simply couldn't provide the same level of instinctual safety the sun could. Those that did roam wouldn't likely care about a strangely-dressed woman and a heavily damaged robot sneaking about from alleyway to alleyway in school district seven. Though at one time, Academy City had a sprawling network of cameras located in a variety of places, constantly taking still images and recording video footage, this clear violation of personal privacy didn't survive the turmoil following Aleister Crowley's demise.

"Coast's clear, D-001. Where did you say this 'fortress' of yours was?" Kazari asked as she stepped out into the open street, head darting back and forth every few seconds.

"Candidly speaking, it is more of a vacant shack than a fortress proper. Still, once we're inside, we'll be invisible, able to scheme in peace, away from the prying eyes of this City's dictators," Devastator responded. "As for where it is located, take a sharp right, and cut between these," the machine pointed to two fair-sized apartment buildings sitting side by side; Kazari correctly assumed it was unsafe for two large buildings to be built so close to one another. The rising population of Academy City demanded to be accommodated, and, apparently, ever expense was spared in ensuring their safety.

One of Academy City's drones flew by, its whirring propellers disturbing the relative silence of the night. It stopped mid-flight for a moment, turned to the two, and then carried on with its business. Kazari prepared herself mentally and physically; these were advanced combat drones, not designed for surveillance, but for combat. "Figures. Why would these things be flying around district seven, though? They're almost always terrorizing the gangs of district ten and nineteen."

"HOSTILES DETECTED. IDENTIFYING. BASED ON IMMEDIATE THREAT TO ACADEMY CITY'S INTERESTS: FIRST HOSTILE IS UIHARU KAZARI: HUMAN FEMALE OF AVERAGE HEIGHT AND WEIGHT; MENTAL CAPACITY: BEYOND GENIUS-LEVEL. CANNOT ACCURATELY CALCULATE MENTAL CAPACITY OF FIRST HOSTILE, GIVEN SOFTWARE RESTRICTIONS. SECOND HOSTILE IS DEVASTATOR UNIT ONE, ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE EQUIVELENT TO BORDERLINE GENIUS OR GENIUS LEVEL HUMAN," the drone loudly proclaimed. It spoke in the same voice as the robotic officers, thought its own vocalizations were considerably louder, likely so it could speak over the sound of its whirring propellers.

Devastator raised its wrist, moving its arm about to follow the drone's movements as it prepared for a direct assault, but Kazari had moved quicker. She pulled the trigger of her handgun, hitting the drone a total of three times. Bullets bounced off of its shell, causing it to destabilize mid-air. It titled from side to side. "SKYTERROR-15732 UNDER ATTACK. REQUESTING REINFORCEMENTS TO COMBAT HOSTILES," the drone rattled off. A particle stream, delivered by Devastator made quick work of the drone; it exploded as the stream made contact with its form, sparking mechanical parts and the wires that held them all together within the drone's now-destroyed frame falling from the sky.

Little did either know, a message had been delivered to the entirety of the OFFICER network, and elsewhere, a wheelchair-bound Kihara was laughing to himself. The Kihara was still going to have a fun, if sleepless night.

"We're going to have a small army to deal with if we don't get to your hidey hole soon, D-001. Enough toying around," Kazari commented.

Devastator looked down at the level two esper for a moment, as if it was contemplating, before it finally nodded in apparent agreement. "Not far. Let them send their army of puppets; they'll be searching for two needles in a haystack."

After cutting between the two apartment complexes, and having to hide themselves from a group of drunken, irate youth who had likely just walked home from a social gathering, given their hysterical laughter and stumbling forms, the two arrived at what appeared to be a metallic grate. It was large enough for three or four people to fit themselves into, and, to Kazari's surprise, wasn't locked up tighter than Fort Knox. It looked like an ordinary grate one would find in Academy City.

"Ladies first." Devastator mock-offered, gripping the handle of, and then lifting the hatch.

"It's complete, inky darkness; I'm not going down there before you do," Kazari replied in a firm tone.

It shrugged indifferently as it leapt feet first into the darkness, the exposed crown of its damaged head vanishing after the rest of its body. "There's a ladder, of course. Use it, or you'll find yourself in a similar position to Creator! It would break my cold metallic heart to have to push you around," The machine called up. Its voice didn't sound particularly distant. "I could probably just jump… but I don't want to end up in a desperate position, especially in the heart of this, mistake's power. Just a little while longer. Remember, you're playing him—it, it's not playing you."

Hesitantly, Kazari placed one foot on, from what her senses told her was the first step of a ladder, then another. Minutes later, she had navigated her way to what felt like solid ground. "Never have I been so glad to stand on a flat surface."

Kazari heard the sound of a switch being flicked, and a blindingly bright light illuminated the darkness; she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes as tightly as she could; colorful spots, changing forms like talented little shapeshifters danced across the blackness of her eyelids.

Upon opening her eyes, Kazari found herself in a shockingly cozy-looking 'home' of modest size; it appeared to have all the furnishings of one of Academy City's modern, upper middle class apartments. The walls lacked any wallpaper; they were a plain, off white color, and were almost sterile looking. Kazari was standing in an uncarpeted living room, with three soft-looking sofas, a lamp standing at the end of the third couch to the right, and a small, unplugged television set that sat on the bottom shelf of a wide wall unit with a total of five shelves.

"Would you believe this isn't the first time I've brought a girl home?" Devastator mockingly asked, walking about the room; one of the last remaining pieces of metallic armor on its right leg was on the verge of falling off, the skeletal but it either didn't notice or didn't care.

Kazari rolled her eyes in response and flopped down on the center couch. "How did you even find this place, D-001?" Kazari asked. "There's nothing to even suggest that the hatch that leads down into this place was different in any way to those that lead down into the City's sewer systems."

"Skill Out peons were being considerably less stealthy than you and I were when entering and exiting this little slice of heaven. I took the initiative to 'evict' them," Devastator answered, raising the two curved metallic bars that were supposed to resemble eyebrows suggestively.

"Is there a computer down here? Anything will do; a tower, a laptop, a notebook. I'm going to need a computer to be of any use in your little game," Kazari said flatly. Devastator left the room via a desolate, sterile-looking hallway before returning soon after with a standard sized laptop in one of its hands, and a tangled web of wires that looked like the laptop's charging cable in the other; the laptop was dark grey, and had an odd, chain link design on its outer shell. A "Lacer" logo was visible in the bottom right corner. "Of course, it wouldn't have been wise to bring your own equipment. They have too much dirt on you; I knew that you wouldn't. You're too smart to make that kind of mistake. Even without a destructive esper ability, you can do more damage to this City of lies behind a keyboard than a level five could hope to with their own abilities."

Kazari nodded. She knew exactly how she was going to start. It would be incredibly simple to bring down the OFFICER network, given enough time. Academy City's cybersecurity was a force to be reckoned with, but it was no match for the intellect and skill of Uiharu Kazari.

Or, it would have been incredibly simple.

Just as Kazari had pressed the power button on the laptop, ordering it to begin its boot sequence, there was a thundering crash; it was terribly loud, and forceful enough to shake the underground shelter the young woman and the machine had taken refuge in.

"That'll be the welcome committee," Devastator commented. It turned towards the ladder that led to the surface, and pointed. "I'll go up and make sure they aren't left unattended. You'll stay down here. Despite what you might believe, I have no reason to believe they even knows this place exists. This bunker has long been equipped with all sorts of newfangled technology to keep whoever might be inside away from the watchful eye of the City. In the unlikely event that I'm utterly beaten, you'll be able to carry the torch."

"If it's a contingent of those soulless "police officers", don't overexert yourself. I'm going to give their little network a challenge to try and overcome. It'll try, but it won't succeed," Kazari stated, her eyes flashing across the screen and her fingers skillfully working the laptop's keyboard.

Devastator could hear the sounds puppets moving above their safe haven. It debated momentarily as it clung to the ladder. The last thing it wanted to lose was two of its most valuable resources. This invisible bunker and Uiharu Kazari were priceless, irreplaceable. Based on the fact that the drone it destroyed was very likely unaware of Devastator's invisible bunker, the puppets above would wander the area and search, blindsided.

"It's now or never, D-001," Kazari called from her seat on the couch. "Something like you might be able to sit around in here for the next twenty years waiting for the right moment, but I can't. I'll die of dehydration or starvation eventually."

"Never change." Devastator commented before it left the safety of the bunker behind, closing the hatch behind it.

It scanned the alleyway; nothing except itself stood there. It disabled the bright cyan light its head and the remaining chunks of its body armor produced, and stepped out into the dark, semi-lit street; it wasn't completely black, street lamps and the pale hunk of rock in the sky offered their assistance to the big, terrible walled City on the little island in the Far East.

"Yoo-hoo!" The machine exclaimed, increasing the volume of its vocalization. Almost instantaneously, clusters of robotic officers came marching towards Devastator and drones descended from on high, their weapons locked onto it.

"I'm glad you could meet me tonight; let's get started, then," the machine mockingly announced, raising its wrists and firing two particle beams.

To Devastator's surprise, an obstacle appeared; or, more accurately, leapt into the fray from atop one of the apartment buildings that flanked the invisible bunker. The earth bucked and shattered beneath its feet, hunks of brown cobbled pavement were tossed upwards and exploded outwards, pelting Devastator. Once the dust had settled, there was a terribly large crater, at least twenty feet wide. The particle beams struck the obstacle, but they seemed to do very little in terms of damage. As the obstacle rose to its full imposing height, Devastator felt an unfamiliar sensation.

It felt fear.

"IRON WALL ON-LINE. USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED BY NETWORK CONTROL TOWER. ENGAGING HOSTILE," the obstacle proclaimed in the same monotonous voice as the other puppets of the OFFICER network. It was terrible to look upon; it had a wide, oval head, with two glassy eyes that glowed a bright cyan. Its mouth, which was currently closed, also glowed the same tone; when its mouth opened, a brighter glow could be seen inside of its 'throat'. The obstacle, that identified itself as an "Iron Wall", stood on all fours, its cartoonish, powerful forearms and enormous fists held most of its body weight. Its legs were considerably smaller, and looked far weaker. Its toeless feet had made holes in the earth where it had landed.

"Iron can be smelted, bent to the will of a talented smith… you will bow before your King, in the end. I will dissemble this Iron Wall piece by piece!" Devastator exclaimed. It leapt into the air, aided by the hydraulics in its legs; one of said hydraulics could be seen functioning beneath its Supirium skeleton in its almost bare right leg. It came crashing down from the sky upon the Iron Wall like a metallic meteorite, firing a particle stream into the opposing machine's oval head.

The Iron Wall lined its colossal fist up with the descending Devastator, and, as gravity forced the machine to fall back to the earth, the Iron Wall's fist connected with Devastator's torso for a split second. There was the deafening sound of metal colliding with metal, and Devastator became airborne once again – its body flailed as it crashed into the brown cobblestone walkway some two hundred meters away. It bounced against the earth multiple times, its limbs tossed about like a child tumbling down a large hill before it finally came to a rest.

The Iron Wall had taken to the air, propelled by unknown means; what appeared to be large, circular objects on its elbows and outer thighs glowed cyan and produced small amounts of smoke. Devastator had risen to its feet, the armor on its torso now completely missing; all that remained was the skeletal frame beneath. "Is this truly the best the City of Science can do? A bigger, arguably uglier version of my own beautiful self? An obese puppet? An imposter?!" The machine proclaimed, raising a single arm and clenching its fist; its body sparked and shook as it did so. "There can only be one, pretender, and I'm here to stay!"

"IRON WALL REFUSING TO RISE TO HOSTILE'S TAUNTS; CONTINUING TO INTELLIGENTLY ENGAGE," the Iron Wall responded.

The Iron Wall landed meters away from Devastator and continued to lumber towards it, its closed fists and ball-like feet crunching and destroying the walkway beneath it. Vast numbers of people, some espers, others level zeroes with little means of defending themselves, fled from the nearby dwellings that were unfortunate enough to be caught in the vicinity of the walkway-turned-warzone. The Iron Wall trampled the frightened and the fleeing beneath it like they were little more than patches of tall grass standing in its way.

"Clumsy, cowardly fraud! I'll rip your iron hide to shreds and find out what hides inside of you!" Devastator challenged, growing increasingly enraged at the sight of innocents being slain. Unfortunately, it appeared that thousands dwelled inside of these two apartment buildings alone; the herds of screaming, terrified residents weren't slowing up. Thankfully, Devastator was leading the Iron Wall away, or at least, trying to. In the heart of school district seven, there were few areas that were uninhabited.

The Iron Wall quickly closed the distance between itself and Devastator; it plowed into the sentient machine, sending it flying off through the air once again. The Iron Wall wasn't done. It took to the air as well, lifting up with a single, powerful leap. It delivered an avalanche of punches, causing Devastator to be sent higher and higher with each successful blow. Devastator fired off a particle beam from each wrist; a noble effort, but it succeeded only in enraging the Iron Wall further. To make matters worse, robotic officers and drones were dumping their ammunition and laser batteries respectively into the unfortunate machine.

Devastator managed to just barely order its body out of the way of an incoming fist; as it came tumbling back to the ground, it at least knew it could try and develop a strategy to find its way back on top of this fight. Hitting the ground with a tremendous thud, it rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being squashed beneath the Iron Wall.

"I see them. You're almost there – just follow the screaming," Kuroko spoke into her cellphone. Tessou Tsuzuri, her superior in Anti Kill, sped to the scene of what had been described as a "destructive clash" in a certain area of school district seven. For an unknown reason, they had been ordered to provide backup for the OFFICER network; Tsuzuri had found it strange that the network needed backup now, when it never really seemed to need any before, but she learned to stop questioning these things too much long ago; Academy City was a strange place, ruled by cryptic people. Kuroko's voice came through a small speaker in her armored vehicle, and Tsuzuri wasn't going to leave her hanging. "I can hear everything loud and clear… too loudly and too clearly! What's even happening out there, Shirai-san?!" Tsuzuri yelled into a microphone pinned to her Kevlar armor. Though her voice was muffled by the helmet she wore, Kuroko was able to hear her.

"Two, well, you're not going to believe this…" Kuroko began.

"Try me, Shirai-san!" Tsuzuri replied, her voice still high-pitched and anxious.

"Two big robots are fighting. I've seen one of them before, only once while I was investigating the GROWTH epidemic in district ten with civilian vigilantes. It's getting beaten pretty badly by the other, bigger one."

Kuroko, using her teleporter ability, had placed herself in a convenient vantage point to observe the goings on until her superior and her troops could provide backup. She stood at the edge of the highest apartment complex in the general area, her vision enhanced by a pair of Anti Skill-issued binoculars. Having been produced in Academy City before the turmoil, they were obviously of much greater quality than any other pair of binoculars in the entire world; her vision wasn't obscured at all as she zoomed in and out to follow the fighting.

Tsuzuri and her troops had finally arrived; they initially had some trouble finding the exact location until Kuroko had forwarded coordinates to her. Tsuzuri tried not to think too deeply about the cost of the communication error. She leapt from the driver's seat of her still-moving vehicle, her Kevlar armor making contact with the ground as she rolled to avoid harm. The eight vehicles with up to fix people in each came to a series of screeching halts as Kuroko's backup piled out.

"Shirai-san, you're free to engage. Let's provide the officers backu-"

Tsuzuri was cut off mid-order. A group of robotic officers had descended before them. Each touched the ground with a thud as they began to surround the Anti Skill officers; they were being boxed in. Tsuzuri felt herself sweating, and not simply from her body heat being deprived of a means of escape by the Kevlar armor she had to wear as a uniform. She looked from officer to officer. "They've never behaved like, this, before! W-what's happening?"

"Proceeding with subroutine "eliminate unrequired law enforcement."

The robotic officers opened fire; bullets pelted Tsuzuri's body armor. Panic was set aside and her Anti Skill training took control of her thoughts. Her duty now was to ensure the safety of the innocent. "With me, we're going to find cover! Something's wrong with the OFFICER network!" Tsuzuri exclaimed, signalling for her troops to follow her lead. The officers continued their barrage of bullets, stopping only to reload their weapons.

Devastator leapt into the air to avoid an oncoming blow from the Iron Wall; its fist struck only the air, causing it to lose its balance. It stumbled over its ball-like feet before it turned around to face its foe. Devastator fired a particle stream into the Iron Wall's face, temporarily blinding it. The Iron Wall swatted at the air, trying to move out of the way of the stream, but the stream simply followed. Devastator had gained the upper hand.

It soon lost the upper hand as soon as it had gained it, however, when the Iron Wall took to the skies, moving out of the range of Devastator's particle streams.

"Coward! Imposter! I'll force you down to face me on equal grounds!" Devastator angrily proclaimed. If only it had the driver that allowed it to take to the skies for extended periods of time.

Tsuzuri and her troops had found cover behind a dumpster, of all things. "Cover is cover. At least we can hold out here." If this had been any other city, the dumpster would provide little protection against gunfire; but this was Academy City. Even the dumpsters apparently had to be made out of some near-indestructible material. Tsuzuri would move out from cover only to spray a hail of bullets at a robotic officer. So far, she and her troops had downed an impressive number of the deranged automatons, but where one fell, it was if two took its place. To say the least, it was doing a number on morale. Tsuzuri's men and women were the bravest around, but they were still human.

Their resolve broke completely when they heard the droning sound of lasers being fired; drones were descending on their position. "We need better cover! Find something, anything! The network is going to tear us apart!" Tsuzuri ordered, but she was losing control of her troops.

It was then that there was a strange sound; the mechanical clanking the robotic officers' bodies produced when they moved was louder than usual, coming at erratic intervals. The sounds and vibrations of gunfire had ceased, and those that had been previously assaulting the Anti Skill officers spoke together at once, like a symphony of synthetic, emotionless voices. Drones fell from the sky around the Anti Skill officers, raining down on the earth with a series of bangs and clangs.

"Unknown, ROGUE PARTY ATTEMPTING DIRECT denial OF SERVICE ATTACK. EMERGENCY SECURITY PROTOCOLS ENABLED. All RESOURCES CURRENTLY focusED ON COMBATING aTTaCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK."

As the Iron Wall fell from the sky and hit the ground with a thundering crash that shook the earth, Devastator had its head flung back, and was producing its inhuman, unnatural 'laugh'. It stomped the ground beneath it victoriously. "Uiharu Kazari…" Devastator mused aloud. There wasn't much left that it could do; the Iron Wall was clearly beyond it at this moment. It would have to become whole again before it could stand against this foe. It couldn't just leave this grave threat here, however. The Iron Wall could potentially become active again, and would could perform any number of unspeakable crimes to attempt to gain Devastator's attention and draw it back into the open.

As Devastator began to form a plan of action, it's concentration was unexpectedly broken.

"Y-you! C-can you hear me?! Hands where I can see them!"

Devastator looked up, an unimpressed glare painted on what remained of its face. Before it stood a hunting party of armored human law enforcement officers. It couldn't make out the individuals due to the protective helmets that obscured their faces, but they were distinctly human. The officer who stood at the front of the group, rifle shaking in their unsteady hands, had addressed it in the voice of a young female.

"I said up! Up where I can see them! Or I'll fire!" The probable woman exclaimed from beneath her armor, confidence returning to her.

"One irritation after another, it would seem; listen 'ere, sheriff. I ain't done did nothin' wrong, ye hear?" the machine spat at the law enforcement officer before it. "And, yes, I can hear you. What? Do you think I'm one of these, what are they? Empty men? One of these puppets? I'm a real boy, ma'am." Devastator's voice came out semi-obscured and riddled with static – its vocalization driver had been damaged.

"If we kill it, Tessou-Sama, I-it could be murder. It sounds like it's, a-alive…" One of the Anti Skill officers said, stumbling over his words.

"I'm as alive as you are! Am I so different from you? You have pink skin, I have… well, right now I'm mostly naked! But I HAD metallic body armor! You have eyes that can see, I have eyes that can see! You can hear, I can hear! You can taste… speaking candidly, I can't actually taste, because I don't actually eat anything! Gotta get skinny for that boy at school, you know how it goes!" the machine spurted out.

"What were you doing here? Explain yourself, if you can," Tsuzuri demanded. She hadn't lowered her weapon, but her voice had become less hysteric. She retained a firm tone when addressing the machine.

"That's… a long story."

"You can tell me while you're safely behind the bars of a holding cell, robot. I need you to come peacefully," Tsuzuri stated flatly. "Hands out. I'm going to need to put these on you." She had produced a pair of handcuffs; designed to render arrested espers harmless by placing a 'block' on them, effectively preventing them from using their abilities. They would do little good against a machine like this, but they would have to do.

"I didn't actually have this planned out, but, what the heck – we'll just ad lib. I'm afraid I can't do that. It's nothing personal. I know you're just trying to uphold the law, protect the innocent, that sort of spiel. But I can't go to the big house today."

With that said, Devastator leapt above the officers, hit the ground some thirty feet away, and fled down an alley; it gave an excited wave as it disappeared into the inky blackness. By the time Tsuzuri and her troops had stormed the alleyway, the flashlights of their weapons turned on, they saw no sign of the machine, and, in their rush to try and apprehend the self-aware machine, most had missed a certain ordinary hatch in the center of the cobblestone pathway. Tsuzuri had noticed it, but paid it little mind - all of the entrances to the sewer systems in Academy City were locked down beneath virtually indestructible hatches, only enterable via a passcode that the robotic janitorial staff had stored in their collective memory.

Touma's stir fry – the meal of his choice, was nearly ready. It had turned out surprisingly well, despite how distracted and anxious he had been the entire time. More than once, he found himself satisfying some obsessive urge to look around the corner from the kitchen and into the living room. As if his mind needed to check to see if Misaki was still there. "This is so stupid. Grow up, Kamijou Touma. What are you, eight?" He had mentally berated himself over and over; perhaps it wasn't that exact thought, but it was close enough. During one of these obsessive rituals, he had even been 'caught' by his wife, who smiled thinly at him and waved. An awkward grin had formed on his face, and he, of course, waved back.

His feast (at least his fifteen-year-old self would have thought it a feast) was ready – he was about to bring it to the table a few feet away. It was then that Touma felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a body press itself against his back.

"Though very few things may be okay in the outside world, everything is okay within these walls." Misaki said, trying to reassure Touma. "Nothing will harm us in this paradise we have made in the heart of chaos."

Touma placed his hands on Misaki's, complete, unquestioning trust and adoration swirling through his thoughts. Misaki's grip tightened.

"I know that, beautiful. It's, just, that something came close to happening while you were out there. I'd never expect you to sit like a bird in a cage, and I would never want you to, it's, it's really scary. I feel like I tell you this everyday, probably too much, I bet it annoys you after a while, but you, you… you're the love of my life, Misaki." Touma turned around, causing Misaki to release her grip. He took her hands in his, and looked into her starry eyes. "You've gotten me through this fucked up life that I'm in. You stood by my side, never faltering, not even once, during the war Fiamma of the Right created. You held my hand and saw me through those months after that, that, one-eyed monster broke me. You never left my side when I was forced to face that bastard who could destroy gods with his right hand. You played a huge role in defeating that, thing, the Director tried to kill us with, that angel… whatever it was."

Touma took a moment to breath; he hadn't even stopped to inhale. Misaki simply looked into his eyes, waiting for her husband to continue. He held her hands so tightly, yet it didn't hurt. His grip was tight, yet somehow so gentle. "Even in the throes of an emotional moment, he subconsciously treasures me. He treats me so, so well. Touma… If only I could put into words my love for you. Love does not even describe it. There are no words. Our bond is beyond words."

Touma continued, trying to getting himself back on the rails of what he was originally venting to his wife about. "Without you, I completely believe I wouldn't have survived any of it. I wouldn't be alive. You're my reason for being here. Without you, I would die. I would never want to live in a world without you, and I was almost forced to face such a world. It's still so terrifying."

"Kamijou Touma," Misaki began. A lump had formed in her throat; she didn't care. She wasn't afraid to show her husband her crying face; she wasn't afraid to let her Kamijou Touma see her clearly, with all of her flaws. "You saw yourself through all of those terrible events. I feel so happy knowing I supported you, that is all I want to do. I wish solely to support and adore you. I acted as a supporter, yes, but you stood tall with your own, sheer willpower."

"It still doesn't change the fact that I just don't want to be without you. It's selfish to say, but I… I don't think I'd go on in a world without you, Misaki. If it happened, I'd rather join you in whatever waits for us after we die."

"Please do not say that, Touma." Misaki quickly replied, her heart speeding up in her chest. She felt a wave of dread wash over here, and she lost her composure. "Please… Touma."

Misaki pressed her face into her husband's chest, tears flowing freely now. His arms had found their way around her shoulders, and he held her close. "Touma, I love you, I adore you, please don't say that." Her own hands had gripped his shirt, her nails likely slicing through the material it was made of.

"I'm sorry! I… I didn't mean to. It just came out. It was just a stupid, selfish thought I'd never act on, b-because I'm never going to have to act on it, right?! Misaki, beautiful, please don't cry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He pressed his lips against the crown of her head, holding her as closely to him as possible without causing her any discomfort.

She looked up, and she smiled thinly. Through her tears, she smiled.

"I know… I know you didn't, my sunshine. It is okay, I-I promise."

"I hope I didn't upset you, God, I'm sorry… I never want to hurt you, or make you cry," Touma said, barely holding his own tidal wave of emotions in check.

"You did not. I promise. I promised, on the day that you fell to one knee and asked me for my hand in marriage – one of the greatest days of my life, that I would never lie to you. I do not plan on breaking that promise, Touma. Every word… every word that comes from my mouth when I speak to you is truth." Misaki pulled him down slightly, and pressed her lips against his; her hands found their way, through instinct or perhaps muscle memory, to his cheeks. Her eyes closed, and she allowed the tears to continue dripping. Misaki and Touma exchanged no more words, instead, they simply enjoyed the moment.

"B… baby, I think your dinner has gotten cold. I…"

Touma turned back to his stir fry; indeed, no smoke rose from the pan. Cold dinner it was, apparently. Still, Touma couldn't help but simply shake his head and grin – not even so much as a "such misfortune" was uttered. "How could you even say that right now? Look, you have your beautiful, perfect wife in your arms, safe and sound in your cozy home. This woman," Touma took a moment to bask in her natural beauty. Her face, an image of symmetry at its finest, her starry eyes glowing like two unique little universes sitting inside of her head, her long, soft, honey-scented blonde hair, her perfect, kissable lips that were his and his alone to lay his own upon. Her body was the magnum opus of nature's design, pristine and unspoiled – he was her first lover, and would be her only lover, to lay so much as a finger on her body. "This woman fucking loves you, Kamijou Touma. She has stood by your side for ten long years, through this this mess of a world you were thrown into. She accepts you completely, with all your stupid 'illusion-shattering' ways. "Such Misfortune"? No, you're the luckiest man alive."

"Don't even worry about it," Touma said. "It'll still be good. It'll be even better because I get to have it with you."

Misaki blushed, her cheeks glowing red as she fiddled with her fingers. Oh, how he still flustered her so.

Touma sat on the couch, a TV tray pulled out – he had decided to take his mind off of everything by watching whatever was on the brain-rotting device. Misaki still insisted that she wasn't hungry. She had her head pressed against her husband's shoulder. Her own eyes were fluttering, now. "I want to stay awake. I want to keep talking to Touma; but I am, so, tired. Maybe I will just take a nap. I am sure he won't mind."

As Touma flicked through the channels, trying to find something, he caught Academy City's news station. Ever since the fall of Aleister Crowley, and the ensuing turmoil that followed, Academy City's state media had become secretive, to say the least. It was a matter of those at the top not wanting the City's citizens to see the outside world; likely because the outside world was practically a paradise compared to the failing experimental Japanese city. War had all but been eliminated; even most Objects, war machines from the outside world had been discontinued and scrapped. International conflicts took place through untelevised, but heavily reported on verbal debates that ended with more often than not, fulfilled promises of positive change. Of course, small pockets of poverty and crime still existed, but the outside world was a hell of a lot better than it was ten years earlier.

With this in mind, Touma practically choked on the vegetable he had just put into his mouth when he saw what was being discussed.

"OFFICER Network Encounters Costly Error, Rogue Automatons Wage War in School District Seven Amongst Chaos", the headline declared.

The droning, almost robotic voice of the news anchor discussing the situation at hand had been tuned out from Touma's mind; pictures uploaded to Academy City's heavily censored and arguably castrated state-run social media service depicted an enormous, white and grey robot flying above a group of fleeing people; while this would have been enough to catch the imaginations of most, it was the machine standing amongst the fleeing people, looking up at its airborne opposition that caught Touma's attention.

It was that monster he had met in district ten. The monster he had grown to hate.

"That goddamn fucking robot is here!" Touma roared, nearly jumping from his seat, which would have sent what remained of his meal flying. Misaki shot up next to him, and Mikoto jumped from her slumber.

"Ywaaaah?! Who's there?! Kuroko, s-stop touching me! Not right now!" Mikoto exclaimed, looking from side to side. "H-how long was I a-asleep for?! Oh man!"

"Touma, are you okay? Why are you shouting?" Misaki asked. Her husband rarely ever raised his voice in their home – she could count the times he had on one hand.

"L-look at the news!" Touma exclaimed, his finger pointing accusingly at the television screen.

Misaki gasped, and Mikoto's eyes widened.


	13. A Certain Defeat

The news report continued, the anchor's voice continuing to explain what little details the station actually had on the incident. They presented a rundown of what they believed were the basic facts: an apparently dangerous machine, vaguely resembling a human being, had appeared in school district seven to act on an unknown agenda. The OFFICER network had been called into action to combat the threat. Anti Skill had been contacted by an unknown party to abandon their posts in districts ten and nineteen to provide backup. The network encountered an error it was incapable of solving without human aid, resulting in an attempted attack on Anti Skill personnel. The rogue machine eluded capture, and was still at large.

"Few casualties were reported in the incident; we will continue to report on new pieces of information in regards to the incident as they break," the young female news anchor concluded, an unreadable expression on her face.

The volume of the television fell to a lower level; it was Mikoto who had given the electronic device the command; using her ability, she didn't even have to actually touch anything to do so. Usually, snide and sarcastic comments would come of such an act; this time, they didn't. Instead, the level five electromaster stood up, pacing back and forth, her arms crossed across her chest.

"That bigger robot; the white one, that didn't look anything like the robots we're used to seeing. I've never seen anything like it before. What was it? Where did it come from? As a matter of a fact, where did that other one we met before come from? Why is that one here? Too many unanswered questions. The news doesn't seem to know a damn thing," Mikoto pondered; though she was verbalizing her internal thoughts, she was aware that she was also speaking to her friends.

"I don't know," Touma replied honestly, "but I don't intend to sit around and just let all of this insanity rip a safe district apart." Touma looked down at his right hand, the hand that was the host of the mysterious Imagine Breaker.

"Touma," Mikoto spoke up. She closed the distance between the two of them.

"Listen to me for a minute. For once in your life, just listen to me, and actually hear me. This isn't the kind of the thing you can rush headlong into, punching everything and shouting about illusions. One swipe from something like that white robot, or one blast from that other one, and you'd be dead. Where would that leave you? Where would that leave your wife? Where would that leave the world?" Mikoto was mere inches away from Touma, now. Despite his own confidence, despite the fact that Mikoto looked absolutely hilarious in her Gekota shirt, Touma felt a chill go down his spine. Not because he was afraid, but because Mikoto was speaking the truth, and the determined look on her face said it all: she was going to involve herself, Touma would stay out of this, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

"If you have to get involved in anything, for whatever stupid reason, stick to the supernatural. At least that… power in your hand can help even the playing field when you're out there punching espers and magic users. Let me handle this; I'm going to touch bases with Kuroko, and I'm going to investigate. You know I've been deep in the darkness of Academy City since before I was a teenager. More importantly, any robot gets on my nerves is toast, one way or another."

An awkward half-smile appeared on Touma's face. "She's really, really scary when she gets serious. Fucking Biribiri, man. Wait; did I just think that name? Don't even think that name, Kamijou. If you think about it, it could come out, and then you'll be the next one to be toast."

"Y-yeah, sounds good, Misaka-Sama… Whatever you say…"

Mikoto huffed and returned to her seat on the couch, crossing one of her legs over the other. She closed her eyes, and an irritated look appeared on her face. "Honestly."

Misaki's lips spread into a smile, and she found herself quietly giggling. "Everything around us is falling apart; relative stability, our so-called police force, Academy City itself. Yet, I find myself laughing. Maybe this is just so absurd, all I can do is laugh about it. Maybe I laugh because I always knew this City could not last the test of time."

"What's so funny, Kamijou-san?!" Mikoto demanded.

"You, Misaka-san. When you are enraged, you are simply so adorable. I could squeeze your cheeks."

"E-eh?!" Mikoto scooted away from the Mental Out user, grumbling to herself inaudibly.

Mikoto's phone buzzed and rang aloud in her shorts' pocket, putting an end to the relatively, and surprisingly cheerful moment. She produced the device and looked down at it.

"Speak of the devil and she'll appear. Hi, Kuroko."

Mikoto left the living room of the Kamijou residence and stepped into the vacant kitchen; it wasn't that she didn't trust her friends, she just didn't want to get in the way, or, for that matter, be a hypocrite; she hated it when people had personal conversations in public, or in the company of others. It seemed impolite to the well-mannered electromaster.

"Onee-Sama, hi! Oh, everything is just going wrong! First, the underground mall, and now this! What is the world coming to?!" Kuroko exclaimed, exasperated.

"You heard about what happened down there? It's not the world, Kuroko, it's Academy City," Mikoto reminded.

"I know, Onee-Sama. It's simply frustrating! Of course I know! I'm glad so many people escaped unharmed, but it's still such a tragedy. How did you hear about it? The news? Social media?"

"I was there, Kuroko. I was there with Kamijou-san and Accelerator, and—"

"ONEE-SAMA!" Kuroko cried loudly, her voice full of anxiety. "You were THERE? In that… that terrorist attack?! Are you alright?! Please tell me you're alright, Onee-Sama."

"I'm talking to you just fine, aren't I? I'm still in one piece," Mikoto grumbled. She didn't like it very much when Kuroko doted over her. She was an incredibly powerful, fiercely independent person. "I guess it's the thought that counts."

"Ah, Onee-Sama, I'm so glad. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself for not being there to see you to safety! But, I'm getting distracted." Kuroko's voice turned completely serious in tone in a split second. "If you're feeling up to it, Onee-Sama, I could use your help with something. I – well, Anti Skill – needs an electromaster's assistance. Of course, you were the first person I thought of."

Mikoto raised an eyebrow, even though Kuroko couldn't see it, given that they were having a regular phone conversation. "I'm up for anything. What does Anti Skill need help with?"

"During the incident, much of which I want to speak to you about, I was scouting from atop an apartment building. When that robot we encountered in district ten took off, I saw it go down an alley. The alley had an entrance and an exit; I didn't see it emerge from the other side, even after Tessou-san and her troopers did. I want to look into it, but without an electromaster's six sense for everything electronic and metallic in nature, we'd be completely in the dark."

"When do you need me there?" Mikoto asked; she could feel an urge to put an end to at least one of Academy City's many problems building up inside of her. Was it nervousness, or excitement? She couldn't really tell.

"Preferably as soon as possible, Onee-Sama. I'm sure you're absolutely exhausted, everything that's befallen us lately considered, but I don't think it's smart to wait any longer than we already have."

"I agree. Don't worry, I'll catch up on my sleep whenever I get the chance – I'm feeling up to it."

"Oh, Onee-Sama! So reliable, as always. I'll see your gorgeous, flawless existence very soon, don't be late!" Kuroko swooned. Mikoto could hear the lust in her something-more-than-a-friend's voice, and it made her own body quiver with anticipation, despite the fact that their meeting would be anything but sexual. "Get your head out of the gutter, Mikoto."

"Y-yeah, I-I'll see you soon!" Mikoto said, more loudly than she had intended, and quickly ended the call.

"Oi, lovebirds, I'm heading out. Thanks fo-"

Mikoto stopped talking when she entered the living room; Misaki was stifling a giggle, and a finger was raised to her lip. Touma sat on the couch, his head hung low; he was snoring softly. Apparently, everything had caught up with him and taken him by surprise.

"Thanks, Kamijou-san, for having me, even if I was napping for most of our visit… Eheheh," Mikoto whispered. "And, thanks for the day prior to the horrifying terrorist attack. It sucks that nothing can ever just be normal in this place."

Misaki took Mikoto into a friendly embrace, one that was returned rather quickly.

"It was no trouble. I was having a lovely day, as well, until… I do not know if things will ever change in this City. I do not know if any of us have a future here." Misaki turned to her sleeping husband; drool dripped down from his lower lip, and Misaki couldn't help but smile. "But I know we will find a way to persevere. I also want you to know that we will always be your friends. If there is ever anything you, your family, or your friends ever need, do not hesitate to come to us. We will always provide."

"T-thanks, Kamijou-san. It's hard to believe how much everything and everyone has changed, how this City is more or less for the birds, now."

Misaki sighed. "I feel regret for my behavior when I was a young person. I was a paranoid mess, constantly believing the world was out to harm me; that unless I could read a person's every thought, they could not be trusted. Perhaps, given my childhood, I had an excuse to behave in such a way, but it was not a reason. How many friendships did I miss out on? How much of my life did I really lose while I hid away in a dorm room? Meeting my Touma, and meeting you, despite our rocky start, are two of the few things I do not regret."

"I was played into helping with the mass slaughtering of my own Sisters. The Sisters themselves are the result of Academy City blatantly lying to me. Did I ever tell you how the researchers got my DNA map? Did you ever find out? I'm sure you did, but I'm going to tell you anyway. They lied to me, Kamijou-san. I don't want to go too far into the past, but they lied to me. This City fucked us all from the start, Kamijou-san. I can never forgive Accelerator for what he did to my Sisters, for slaughtering them, for treating them like they were less than human… But, just like you and me, he was a product of this City's true intentions, whatever those might be. Even I can say that. Same with Mugino Shizuri and ITEM. When you boil it down, we're all friends, or in some cases, associates, who all have a mutual enemy in this City."

With that, Mikoto smiled thinly at Misaki and took her leave, leaving the fifth ranked level five esper with a lot to think about.

Kazari's head turned when she heard the sound of a hatch being closed and then locked, followed by the sound of Devastator hitting the ground within their place of refuge. She closed the laptop she had been working on. "Wow, okay. What exactly happened up there? You look, well, you look pretty bad." Kazari commented, a slight hint of surprise in her voice. "So, there's something capable of giving this mistake a thrashing? Was the number one up there, or something? Whatever; once it's outlived its usefulness, I might have to find out who or what exactly managed to pull this off."

"We have a problem, Uiharu Kazari; the bad guys have someone of great intellect and great skill, possibly even greater than yours, on their side. An obese imposter that identified itself as an "Iron Wall" is, as of this moment, beyond my ability to defeat. Also, thanks for the Denial of Service Attack. I'd likely be forced off-line if that fraud continued to pound on me, though I'm sure you didn't do so out of the kindness of your heart."

"I didn't. Well, it wasn't nice knowing you. I guess that's it. Some revolution this turned out to be. You stick it to the man, and the man sticks you right back ten times over," Kazari replied.

"Not quite. This Iron Wall is far from invincible, nothing is truly 'invincible'! There's always a loophole, an exception!" Devastator exclaimed frantically, its damaged vocalization driver screeching and whirring. "Here, I'll explain how my evil plan continues unabated, despite this minor setback; we're gonna need Supirium, lots of Supirium, basic tools for cutting, bending and shaping said copious amounts of Supirium, and, a snitch."

Kazari raised an eyebrow; "a snitch?" Everything else Devastator had listed was par for the course. The way it had simply said "a snitch" suggested it knew more than it let on. "What do you mean a snitch?" She asked, growing somewhat curious. This was certainly an unfamiliar sensation.

"Well, I say we need a snitch, but we really don't; I've already found one. I've been working with him for a while. He's your typical lone wolf, mysterious "I don't trust anyone because I'm DARK and GRITTY and have deep-seated personality issues" kind of person. The turncoat won't even tell me his name," the machine replied. As long as it could keep Kazari hooked, it didn't run the risk of her attempting, or worse, succeeding, at committing suicide. "All I do know is that he's ex-Kihara. Some pixie who's trying to lead a more fulfilling life or some nonsense of that sort. Apparently, tattling on, and selling the personal information of your former coworkers is a great way to improve yourself." Devastator waved its hands for sarcastic effect as it concluded its description.

"Ex-Kihara? I've never heard of that. I didn't think that anyone who joined, or was brought into it actually got out, or even wanted to," Kazari responded. "What does he know?"

"A lot, in fact!" Devastator replied quickly in order to hold the mentally damaged Uiharu Kazari's attention. "A few months ago, I didn't think much of him. Then, he goes and gives me the contact information of one of the strongest and most efficient thugs for hire in this wasteland of a city. I'll say it; I was impressed. You don't just find that kind of information in your local phone book. With this in mind, I'm thinking he might know about where we can find, or from where we can illegally import enough Supirium to fulfil part of the checklist for my evil plan."

"Well, where do we find him? If you think we can worm our way out of this, I'm all ears," Kazari responded in a neutral tone of voice. "I'd rather not wither away to nothing in an air conditioned prison. I feel like one of those doomsday preppers down here."

"What do criminals do when they're not committing crimes in real life? They hide within the protection of the dark web! Surely the woman capable of bringing down one of the strongest security systems on the planet knows what the dark web is." The machine looked at Kazari for a moment, as if to confirm that she actually knew what it was talking about.

"How do you think our saint of a former employer fulfilled most of the requirements for your creation? Of course I know what the dark web is," Kazari snapped. "Don't patronize me."

It seemed to ignore Kazari's outburst, and continued; "when you're trading kennels of abducted women for hard drugs, you need to stay anonymous. Not that our man is doing that kind of thing, not to my knowledge, at least. He's too much of a delicate little thing to do something like that."

In short time, Kazari had found her way to what was often referred to as the "dark side of the internet" using a web browser that ensures the user's anonymity. Most believed that this "dark web" or "deep web" was a completely different internet than what most people used for day to day business and for pleasure, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth. The dark web hid in plain sight; it was a matter of knowing the right URLs and having the right web browser.

Kazari was on what appeared to be a simple forum; Devastator had given her the URL. It looked like whoever put the forum together just barely cared about it; the HTML was decomposing, resulting in broken images and simplified black text on white backgrounds. Topics discussed on the forums were depraved to the point that even the mechanical monstrosity behind her turned its head in shame; such was the nature of this sort of place.

"Log in with this username and password; I'm very proud of my personal account. The username is… ThePussyDevastator. Password is… ILovePussy696969. Case sensitive; every word starts with a capital letter."

Kazari turned back, an unimpressed look on her face. A vein in her forehead bulged.

"Seriously?"

"Is there a problem?"

"Fine. Whatever." She conceded, begrudgingly entering the username and password, and then clicking the 'login' button with the trackpad. "I thought we programmed an advanced artificial intelligence capable of surpassing a genius. Instead, I guess we created an eleven-year-old boy who just discovered that he likes girls."

"You're hurting my feelings, Uiharu Kazari," the machine said, mock-sobbing. "Search for KS. That's this turncoat's username."

The search turned up two search results; the first appeared to be an account of unknown purpose that contained the letters "KS" along with a string of other letters, numbers, and characters. It had an avatar made up of blue, red, yellow, and orange boxes on a white background. It had recently made a post in a thread whose posters were looking for leaked nude photos of the female level fives; said post had been a reply to ThePussyDevastator. "What does this thing do in its spare time? We never programmed it to feel sexual urges or desires. Maybe it was messing with them." Kazari, though curious as to whether or not anything had been unearthed, skipped over. The second account was simply named "KS". It lacked an avatar, and rarely posted. Its last post had been in a thread discussing the possibility of Academy City starting World War Four.

"Is this your ex-Kihara? They don't seem to be an active user," Kazari commented.

"That's our pixie. Send him a message. If he doesn't reply right away, he will eventually," Devastator responded.

"ThePussyDevastator: Hi."

Kazari cringed internally; of course she'd find herself talking to someone on an illegal forum under the username "ThePussyDevastator". This was just her luck.

"KS: who is this? You didnt greet me with "hey u fucking fairy", or "message me back u idiot".

"ThePussyDevastator: I'm a friend.

ThePussyDevastator: hey idiot im here if u dont start cooperating rn ill kill your entire family and i mean ur real family : - )

ThePussyDevastator: Sorry.

KS: Id rather talk to your friend Dev. You're an asshole.

ThePussyDevastator: You can say that again. Listen, "Dev" here says that you might know where we can find supirium."

KS: what is he trying to do with supirium? I dont even think its safe to talk about that sort of thing on a forum like this.

ThePussyDevastator: It's not important for you to know all of the details. Just know that it's going to be used to change Academy City for the better."

Kazari looked away from the computer screen momentarily. "Do you pay this guy to do your dirty work? Or do you just threaten his family?"

"What kind of a monster do you think I am?! Of COURSE I pay him! The whole "I'll kill your family" thing is a joke! If I wanted to kill his family, I would've made my move months ago!" Devastator exclaimed defensively, reeling back in offense.

Kazari returned her attention to the screen before her, examining the newest message sent by this mysterious turncoat.

"KS: yeah you know what? Id rather not know. I just hope you know what youre getting yourself into. Someone on this very forum and a few others in fact has spoken about a place or two. They claim to have worked in the old reformatory in district ten importing big hunks of it from somewhere outside Academy City. Their boss was in their words not mine a crazy nympho cunt with mind control powers. If the thread still exists I can send you a link.

ThePussyDevastator: Please do? Thanks.

KS: wow. Manners? why are you friends with Dev? Youre too good for him, whoever you are.

ThePussyDevastator: Let's keep this conversation on track."

Once the URL had been sent to Kazari through the forum's private messaging system, she moved her mouse to the hyperlink and left clicked on it; she commanded the computer to open the link in a new tab.

There thread wasn't a particularly long one; not a lot of people had posted. Yet, a moderator hadn't apparently locked the thread despite its relatively old age.

"Alright, I'll humor you; what do you think, D-001?" Kazari asked. She turned around to face the machine.

"I think we should look elsewhere. Candidly speaking, I don't think I'd last long. I need a full repair – the manicure, the pedicure, the works, or a new shell to launch that bold of an offensive. If this weirdo is telling the truth, the brain-manipulator could have hundreds brainwashed and given simple 'kill on sight' commands. The woman wouldn't be able to get inside my head, and they wouldn't knock me off-line instantly, but in this state, it would be a greater risk than reward. Keep in mind that this conclusion is based entirely on an assumption using my limited knowledge of how mind control abilities actually work," Devastator replied thoughtfully. It began to slowly walk around the room.

"You're actually taking measures to preserve your own existence? Impressive." Kazari commented. She was, in reality, a lot less impressed and more concerned. "If this mistake is slowly beginning to become aware of its own mortality, things could get very, very bad." Kazari, remaining in the same tab, returned to the main page of the forum. While a lot of the topics were conspiratorial in nature, nothing explicitly mentioned Supirium or stockpiles of Supirium in Academy City. It was going to be quite the search.

Mikoto had followed the directions to Kuroko's vantage point in the heart of school district seven; her phone's virtual map app had delivered her to one of the tallest apartment complexes in the visible area; it loomed over the level five electromaster like an awakened giant weaved together with glass and reflective metal as opposed to flesh and bone. Mikoto reached out to the structure magnetically; she 'felt' the complex, and then used her ability to scale it. She refused to look down to the world below her that only grew smaller as she climbed higher. Mikoto held her head high, and ensured that her eyes stared straight forward. "Eheheh. I'm really, really far away from the ground, aren't I? Don't look down, Mikoto…"

Before long, Mikoto had arrived at the top of the building. An enormous ventilation system sat in the upper right corner, smoke bellowing out from a series of thick, long snake-like pipes. In the center of the roof, there was a small, sealed off building about the size of a portable washroom. Most likely, if opened, the door would lead into a staircase that would allow maintenance staff to move from the highest floor of the complex to the rooftop.

"Onee-Sama," Kuroko said, greeting Mikoto with the utmost seriousness in her voice. She wasn't wearing the standard Kevlar armor of Anti Skill; instead, she wore a lightweight, bulletproofed suit that allowed her to easily and efficiently move about. Covering her in its entirety from her neck to her toes, the outside of the suit was completely colored dark blue, almost black, and highlighted her curves. A bright green band was wrapped around her right forearm with the white symbol of Anti Skill in the center. Her tawny hair was tied back in a singular knot that fell down her back. Knee-length, steel toe boots protected her feet. On either of her legs sat a set of three sheathed dagger-like weapons. "I'm glad you're here. There's a lot we need to discuss; I've already informed Tessou-san and my fellow officers about what's really going on here, but you need to know, too."

"I'm listening." Mikoto replied.

Kuroko took Mikoto's hand, and in the blink of an eye, the electromaster had found herself at the base of the apartment complex; the sudden, unexpected trip through the eleventh dimension scrambled her mind, but she quickly recovered.

"I could see that you felt uncomfortable being so far from the ground, Onee-Sama! I didn't want to see you suffer any further." Kuroko stated.

A vein in Mikoto's head throbbed as she struggled to hold up a polite façade. Couldn't Kuroko get a hint? Mikoto wasn't a fan of being babied. "T-thanks, Kuroko. I guess I'm an open book, huh?"

Kuroko nodded sagely before continuing with their previous conversation. She silently instructed Mikoto to follow.

"Onee-Sama, as you know, I saw that machine flee into an alleyway from which it never re-emerged. The alleyway is nearby. It's dark, but Tessou-san and her men are providing the best illumination they're capable of. We're going to physically search the alleyway as best we can; try to find any sort of means that machine could've used to escape."

"So, I only come in if you don't find anything by yourselves, then?" Mikoto asked.

Kuroko nodded in a silent reply.

"Yes, Onee-Sama; if we can't physically find anything, your inborn electromaster senses should be able to pinpoint such a being."

"What if we find it? Are we just going to fight it and hope that we can kill it, or turn it off, or something?"

Kuroko shook her head. "Tessou-san insists that we are authorized to engage this machine with non-lethal methods, only because she and most of her troopers are convinced that killing it could potentially be committing murder; she wants to incarcerate it and learn more about it, who created it, and if it can be put to good use or if it needs to remain in custody for the safety of the City. Tessou-san is my superior. It's not my job to question her orders. All of this considered, I have to say that I'd prefer this to another night of fighting gangs in district ten. It's all we've been doing lately."

"That's what I've never liked about working with these law enforcement agencies. So much internal strife; one person in charge says one thing, another says something else. I'd rather just face whatever's causing trouble head-on and damn the consequences."

"Listen, Onee-Sama. What are the news stations and social media saying about this incident? I haven't had the chance to look into it," Kuroko said, changing the subject.

"Uhh… something about an error affecting the OFFICER Network; the error brought the entire thing down."

Kuroko shook her head. "That's totally incorrect, Onee-Sama. I'm not going to say that I know everything that's going on, but the network didn't encounter an error. The robotic officers announced that a Direct Denial of Service attack had been launched against the network before it was forced offline. That big robot – maybe it was a prototype, I can't say – was trampling fleeing people to try and get to the other robot. It wasn't trying to save anyone, nor were the officers; they were focused on the other robot, too."

"So, what are you saying, exactly?" Mikoto asked.

"I'm saying that this isn't adding up, Onee-Sama! We need to investigate, and we need to investigate now."

Having walked a block and a half, Kuroko was waved into the alleyway by Tsuzuri and her troopers who had taken up position there. Mikoto followed; she looked down at herself and couldn't help but blush slightly; she wasn't even close to being dressed properly for this sort of occasion. "I'm surprised Kuroko didn't run her mouth; she hates Gekota-Sama for some reason."

"Hello, Misaka-san," Tsuzuri greeted. Mikoto only knew it was actually Tsuzuri from her voice; when she wasn't in full-on Anti Skill mode, the young woman had a soft, mild-mannered tone that was quite soothing to listen to, almost like the calm, loving voice a mother would use when speaking to her child. The intimidating appearance of her thick, multi-layered Kevlar armor was ironic. "I'm glad you could come. When we realized we might need the aid of an electromaster, I didn't want to turn to anyone else. I know it probably doesn't look the best; Anti Skill having to resort to the aid of civilian vigilantes, but that's what happens when most of your funding is cut."

"I-it's not a problem, Tessou-san—I mean, Officer Tessou!" Mikoto exclaimed, correcting herself as swiftly as she could at the last moment.

The search began. Tsuzuri and her troopers shined their lights over musty, dirty metallic walls, ran their plated, gloved hands along said walls, and kicked at suspicious-looking objects of interested with their plated boots. Kuroko had tugged at the hatch in the center of the alleyway, but it didn't budge. One officer found a loose brick in one of the walls; the only thing behind said brick was a spider web which contained a small family of spiders, most of which quickly fled upon having their home exposed.

After a grueling half hour of searching the relatively small alleyway from top to bottom, Tsuzuri approached Mikoto. "We've exhausted our options, Misaka-san. We've combed every inch of this place, and we've found nothing. A machine like that couldn't have disappeared. We're missing something."

"Want me to try, Officer Tessou? I can identify anything electronic, electric, or metallic in nature; anything that can be magnetized, or has anything to do with electricity, even if I can't see it, I can still 'know' about it; it's one of the abilities an electromaster comes to rely on," Mikoto offered.

"Anti Skill would appreciate your assistance greatly, Misaka-san," Tsuzuri replied, her voice muffled by her helmet.

Mikoto reached out with her magnetic senses, and began to scan over everything in the area; in the two apartment complexes on either side of her and her Anti Skill allies, Mikoto could feel television sets, personal computers, microwaves, game consoles, almost every sort of home appliance imaginable. She felt metallic walls, both inside and outside, metallic ceilings and floors, and even metallic phone cases on cellular phones.

She felt her heart begin to beat faster with excitement as she identified multiple objects of interest directly beneath her feet; she felt an active personal computer, metallic ceilings and walls (although the walls had felt as if they were 'dulled' by an extra layer of a material Mikoto couldn't identify) and weapons. A large stockpile of weapons. Even more interesting was a large, foreign existence she could feel; it felt heavy, and large, yet Mikoto felt like she would only be able to magnetize bits and pieces of the existence.

"Officer Tessou, Kuroko, I need you to make sure your men stay quiet for me." Mikoto said in a hushed voice. "There's stuff going on underneath us."

Kuroko's eyes widened slightly before she nodded. She walked through the ranks, quietly giving orders.

"Alright," Mikoto began, her voice still hushed. Her excitement, or nervousness – that funny feeling in her stomach could barely be contained. "I have an idea. The only way that machine could've gotten underground without digging a pretty big hole would be either through that sewer hatch," Mikoto pointed to the innocent-looking piece of metalwork, "or through some secret passage I can't seem to locate. I'm going to rip magnetically grip, and then rip that hatch off. I need everyone to be ready for whatever might happen after that."

Kuroko teleported next to Mikoto, and the battalion of Anti Skill officers had their sights on the hatch, their fingers sitting on the triggers of their weapons; the officers were patiently waiting for the chance to either demand a peaceful surrender, or fill whatever or whoever came it with lead.

Mikoto prepared herself mentally before she 'gripped' the hatch with her magnetism, and proceeded to rip it from its hinges. Powerful locks had protested and fought against the third ranked level five esper, but her will was stronger.

The sound of hydraulics pumping and diligently working was heard from beneath them. Mikoto leapt back as a heavily damaged Devastator emerged; it had leapt up from below. The mechanical monstrosity landed on its feet with a thud.

"How did you – it doesn't matter, now, does it? Because none of you are leaving here alive. You should've just left well enough alone. Now look what you're making me do!"

The machine lifted one of its wrists to Mikoto's form, and the other to the Anti Skill officers.

"Cease this behavior immediately! I want you on the ground, hands behind your back! NOW!" Tsuzuri boomed in a sharp, powerful voice that shook Mikoto to the core. "S-she's terrifying when she gets serious…"

"No can do, Sherriff! This town ain't big enuff for the two er us!" The machine mockingly exclaimed; from either of its wrists, a particle stream emerged.

But not far long.

Mikoto sprung into action; she reached out with her ability. Both streams suddenly moved; the two arced upwards, extending towards the sky, causing no damage or causalities.

"Ha! That was a good one. Really, I mean it. I've never seen anyone do that before. It's usually everyone else asking me this very question, but I guess it's time that I asked you: what are you?" Devastator relinquished its particle streams, and began to approach Mikoto. The loose pieces of body armor that hung from its skeleton clanked, and its body produced its signature humming sound with each step.

"I'm Misaka Mikoto, the third strongest level five esper in Academy City. You're using the same mental calculations, the same means, to produce those beams as the fourth strongest. I can bend them in any direction I want with the aid of my electromaster ability."

"It's a pleasure, miss. You know they're looking for nudie pictures of you on the internet? Humanity is a dark, dark thing."

"W-what?!" Mikoto exclaimed. She was taken so far aback by the machine's out of place comment that she felt as if she was going to fall over.

"Don't try and distract us, robot." Kuroko stated. An unreadable expression was visible on her face. "I need you on the ground."

"I've done nothing wrong, Deputy!" The machine proclaimed. It threw its arms into the air to visually express its disdain. "I'm bein' framed!"

"No? You committed multiple counts of first degree murder in district ten. I took the liberty of logging the incident."

"Murder? Those… things, weren't good people. They were animals. It's not against this City's laws to kill animals."

Mikoto had heard enough; she lifted the machine into the air, magnetizing those parts of its outer body she was able to; she couldn't 'grasp' at the skeletal frame, but the bits of outer armor were fair game. What remained of the machine's face showed that its expression had turned from contempt to shock in a moment's time.

"I think I've heard enough. You can't just walk up to someone and kill them. I don't care what your motivations are."

Magnetically reaching deeper into the machine, Mikoto identified the source of the robot's consciousness – a motherboard. She could 'feel' that it was incredibly advanced, far more advanced even than that of a supercomputer like the OFFICER Network, or the dreaded TREE_DIAGRAM. Still, it wasn't beyond the Railgun.

"Shutdown sequence initiated, you sick fuck." Mikoto snarled, her voice full of malice. She brute forced her way into the motherboard and temporarily knocked it out, effectively crashing whatever advanced operating system the machine ran on. Mikoto released her magnetic grip, letting the robot fall to the ground with a thud before she proceeded to dump electricity into it, attempting to fry the motherboard while it was forced into a passive state, but it didn't seem to work. The motherboard, and therefore, the machine itself, remained in a passive, 'sleeping' state. This technology was incredibly, almost absurdly advanced, even for Academy City. It was the best she could do.

Tsuzuri inched forward, the sights of her weapon never leaving the defeated robot. The cyan light in its left eye, and the periodic flashing in its right had both faded, as did the markings on what remained of its outer armor.

"Is… is it over, Misaka-san?"

Mikoto shook her head. "Not for good. I was only able to shut this thing down temporarily; I dumped about five hundred thousand volts into its motherboard, and it's still just lying here in a passive sleep mode. I don't understand."

"Maybe I can help you understand… Misaka-san."

Mikoto's head turned, confusion and dysphoria coursing through her body; she felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach knotted, and she felt herself beginning to sweat. Slowly, her mind began to process exactly what was happening before her.

"U-U… Uiharu-san?"


	14. A Certain Resolution

Kazari had climbed out from whatever it was that laid beneath the ground. She had trouble getting to her feet once she had reached the surface; her body was shaking terribly, and her legs refused to cooperate. Yet, she managed. She felt the disdain she held for both Mikoto and Kuroko rising inside of her.

"Did you kill him—it?" Kazari asked while she motioned towards the 'sleeping' Devastator.

"Couldn't." Mikoto said truthfully. "I can't use too much electricity in a place like this without causing a lot of damage. Uiharu-san, please just tell me what's going on!"

While a part of her felt relief, for some unknown reason, Kazari still frowned. "The way she's looking at me, that stupid sympathetic look on her face, it makes me sick. I want to strangle the life out of her. I want to kill her. Her and Ruiko. I want to kill them all, make them suffer the way I've suffered. Maybe then, in their last moments, they'll come to understand why I am who I am."

"Misaka and Shirai. Isn't this just rich? It's like a high school reunion."

Mikoto stammered for a moment before she forced her tongue to work.

"Uiharu-san, I don't know what you have to do with any of this. Let's talk this out. Y-you look like hell. Let us help you! We stil-"

Kazari had closed the distance between herself and Mikoto in seconds. The dark circles around her eyes grew closer and closer to the bewildered Railgun. In the relative silence, the sound of flesh connecting with flesh was unmistakable.

Kazari's fist made contact with Mikoto's face. The younger esper was surprisingly strong; Mikoto was forced back, nearly tripping over her own feet as she reeled from the shocking blow. The look of, Kazari didn't know exactly what it was for sure, in Mikoto's eyes made her feel good. The part of her that mentally screamed in anguish at what she was doing was beaten into submission by the greater part of her that sought an outlet; an outlet for the hurricane of negative emotions that whipped unrestrained inside of her. As of that moment, Misaka Mikoto had become that outlet.

"Mikoto!" Kuroko shrieked, her shrill voice breaking the silence. She unsheathed one of her blades and almost instantaneously teleported behind Kazari. Kuroko looked as if she was poised to run the blade across Kazari's throat. Anti Skill personnel moved in, screaming demands of immediate surrender at the unstable Uiharu Kazari, and demands of self-restraint at Kuroko.

"Get down on the floor! ON! THE! FLOOR!" Tsuzuri roared. "Get down or I'll fire!'

Kazari shrugged in what could only be described as complete indifference.

"Take the shot. Do you have what it takes? Or are you in the same category as Misaka and her beloved pet?"

"Kuroko, stay out of this." Mikoto commanded. She could see the rage in Kuroko's eyes, and she didn't want this to escalate any further.

Kazari noticed the growing tension. In response, she bent it to her will. "Are you going to listen to her, like a good little whipped dog?" Kazari snarled. "You've always been a servant, Shirai-san; a proper little subject, always obeying your master's orders. Misaka might as well have you on a leash."

Mikoto's body began to spark; electricity jumped from her forehead and from her hands. The smell of ozone was noticeable. She clenched her fists, and her brow furrowed.

Kazari's lips curled into a grin. "You won't do it, Misaka. I've known you for a long time. Even after you and your friends abandoned me, I still knew you. I still know you. You subconsciously set limits on yourself and how you use your ability. You won't kill me."

"Are you sure about that?" Mikoto asked, voice full of disapproval.

Just as Kazari was about to retort, a monotonous voice that came from on high sent her mind into full-on flight mode. The bravado that had carried her this far abandoned her, and she suddenly felt like a small child left alone in a strange place.

"OFFICER Network recovery process complete. Iron Wall reconnecting to network. Success. Iron Wall on-line. MOVING TO ENGAGE HOSTILES."

Mikoto turned to face the source of the vocalization. Hovering above was the larger robot she had seen on the news. Directly behind it, a small army of combat drones. On the ground below it, robotic officers marched in perfect rows, automatic weapons raised in Mikoto's direction. Mikoto tried not to let herself be afraid. "I have to admit, it's even more terrifying up close… But I've got this."

"Kuroko, get Uiharu-san to safety. Knock her unconscious if you have to. I've got Anti Skill's back!" Mikoto exclaimed.

"Are you going to come peacefully? Or am I going to have t—"

Kazari had turned the other way and fled. "I c-can't go back down there now – they'll just come and get me. W-why do I feel so scared all of a sudden? Get it together, Uiharu! Fuck, I'm so powerless. All I can do is run, run, run like the little girl I've always been."

"Uiharu-san!" Kuroko yelled as loudly as she could. She teleported and began to give chase.

Sparks jumped from Mikoto's body as bright blue lightning began to swirl around her. She reached out with her magnetic senses; she could make quick work of the robotic officers and the drones, but the Iron Wall was apparently made of a material that couldn't be magnetized. She could normally identify every metal she could 'feel'. The Iron Wall was made out of some sort of metal, Mikoto could 'feel' that much, but she couldn't put a name it.

"Officer Tessou, I'm going to lure these things out of this alleyway. Once I'm out in the open, away from all these residencies, I'll be able to go all-out on this Iron Wall thing," Mikoto stated, never taking her eyes away from her robotic enemies.

"We'll provide you with covering fire as best as we can, Misaka-san! Be safe!" Tsuzuri replied with wavering confidence in her tone of voice.

Mikoto magnetically gripped four robotic officers; she pulled them towards her and held them around her body. Drones rattled off their canned warnings and threats as they fired their lasers at Mikoto's makeshift shields. The other robotic officers ignored their captured brothers and began to fire their automatic weapons at the helpless automatons floating around Mikoto's body.

Running as fast as she could, Mikoto emerged from the alleyway and into the open streets just as the Iron Wall landed with a great thud where she had been mere moments before, causing dirt and debris to be tossed into the air.

"TARGET IDENTIFIED. MISAKA MIKOTO. ESPER LEVEL CLASSIFICATION: 5. CATEGORY: EXPENDABLE. LAUNCHING RENSAKILLER EXECUTABLE FILE IN ORDER TO DELIVER MONUMENTAL DAMAGE," the Iron Wall spoke.

"I'll show you who's expendable, you pile of scrap!" Mikoto cried. Her rage, not only towards this mindless thing, but towards Academy City in general, took control. The Railgun grinned. As the Iron Wall approached, a feral scream was ripped from Mikoto's throat; the Railgun thrust her chest out as she unleashed nearly seven hundred million volts of electricity in the form of a terrifyingly large arc of lightning. The Iron Wall rose up on its hind legs, and crossed its enormous arms over its chest as it charged headfirst into the arc; the increased amount of weight being put on its lower body caused it to break the earth beneath its feet as it moved.

On the other side of the blindingly bright lightning, the Iron Wall emerged. Shock registered within Mikoto at the sight. The Iron Wall didn't just come out unscathed; what remained of the arc of lightning had been deflected by a semi-visible barrier that formed in front of the robot's crossed arms. Light blue hues danced in a large, round circle around the Iron Wall's body. To Mikoto's relief, the machine clearly wasn't capable of vector manipulation. It didn't even appear to be capable of reflection, merely deflection. "Still, it's enough to make this fight a lot more annoying."

As Mikoto began to prepare another arc of lightning, two particle streams hit the Iron Wall in the center of its back. Devastator had emerged from the alleyway, tall, glowing red and angry. Some Anti Skill troops were aiding it by shooting drones out of the sky and blasting away robotic officers. Devastator stomped towards the Iron Wall with dark purpose, its attention entirely on its foe. While the streams didn't do any damage to the Iron Wall, which turned off its deflective shield to concentrate on its resurrected foe, they did give Mikoto the chance to hit the Iron Wall while it wasn't paying attention to her. It felt cowardly, but this was the only chance she had at that moment.

Mikoto hurled an arc of lightning directly at the Iron Wall; just as it raised its arm into the air to swat Devastator away, Mikoto's lightning struck. The bright blue lightning danced across the Iron Wall's outer shell, causing it to convulse in place. Its raised arm lost its momentum and fell uselessly at its side as the Iron Wall slumped over. Orange, yellowish sparks flew from its head and joints, and its shaking limbs shattered the ground beneath it. Devastator approached the Iron Wall. The anti-esper machine looked down at the Iron Wall scornfully.

"I know you're in there. I'm sure you can hear me through this obese, second rate embarrassment... Whether it's you, Creator, or one of your puppets, it doesn't matter. I have a request."

Devastator got down on one knee, its glowing red eyes faded to a bright yellow as it looked more through the Iron Wall's flashing cyan orbs than into them. A smirk formed on what remained of its facial armor.

"Let's have an important talk, Creator. Just you and I."

Kazari had effectively been cornered. She wasn't backed against a dirty wall in another alley, nor had she encountered the misfortune of being caught between Anti Skill personnel and Kuroko. Instead, her downfall had been a physical one; her body had simply stopped listening to her brain's commands. Her legs felt like they were two ten ton anvils, and her heart was pumping blood through her body at a frightening pace as she struggled to regain her breath. She wouldn't have been surprised if she had a heart attack right there. "Laying in a pathetic lump in the street. Not the most dignified end, but at least it's an end."

"It's over, Uiharu-san. You can't run anymore," Kuroko stated flatly. She had no visible weapon in hand, despite the fact that, internally, the teleporter wanted to tear Kazari apart.

"Because you're a teleporting cheat, Shirai! Without that ability, you'd be in a pine box by now!" Kazari shouted.

Kuroko simply shook her head. She knelt down next to the fallen Kazari, who tried to push herself away.

"Don't you dare touch me! Get the fuck away from me!" Kazari screamed. She began to feel as if she was regaining control over her body which, at that moment, felt like it was being stabbed from top to bottom by pins and needles. She writhed in place, and even managed to raise an arm and weakly slap at Kuroko's face.

"Why don't you just talk to me, Kazari?" Kuroko asked, dropping honorifics. It wasn't a matter of respect. She didn't respect Kazari. She had been one of Kazari's best friends before they had drifted apart, but now, Kuroko had no respect for this shadow of a once great person. Kuroko's conflicting emotions furthered this indecisiveness.

"Heh… Kuroko. You want to talk now? I wonder… if Ruiko were in your position right now, would she be doing the same thing?"

"I have no idea what happened between the two of you," Kuroko stated honestly. "I want you to talk to me, Kazari. Why are you so downtrodden and angry? I won't hurt you, so long as you don't hurt me."

"Oh, thank you Kuroko, Lord and Savior!" Kazari snapped sarcastically as she picked herself up from the ground. Her legs were finally willing to support her body's weight again. Kuroko stood as well. She approached cautiously, slowly, and moved herself beneath Kazari's left arm. She wrapped the arm around her own shoulders. Kazari looked at the pavement beneath them as if her life depended on it.

Kuroko's eyes betrayed her mixed inner feelings, though Kazari couldn't see them at that moment. "Why am I helping this person? She harmed Mikoto, my light of lights. I should leave her for dead, but I can't. Why can't I?"

"E-everything went wrong, Kuroko. It all went so wrong. The one person I turned to in my time of need let me fall deeper and deeper into the darkness, figuratively and literally… and I guess I never stopped falling. Kuroko, I want to hit the bottom. I want to stop falling. All I want to do is die, now."

"Who did you turn to, Kazari? Saten-san?" Kuroko asked.

Kazari began to laugh. She laughed like she had been told the funniest joke that was known to man. She laughed, and she laughed, and then she began to cry. At first, there had been little difference between the two vocal expressions. Moments later, though, the difference had become obvious.

"Saten-san… Ruiko… the bane of my existence. My tormentor, the nightmare I can't escape from. When I fall asleep, I wake up back in the same place, haunted by the same feelings of regret. It's the regret that's killing me, Kuroko."

"How did you end up like this, Kazari? The last time we spoke, you seemed troubled, but otherwise alright… why didn't you come to us? We grew apart because you stopped talking to us. Onee-Sama—Mikoto and I thought you just didn't want to be friends with us anymore. If only you had come to us, we could've done something to help you!" Kuroko replied back, frustration evident in her voice.

"There's no harm in telling you now; I'm a dead woman walking, anyways. But back then, I thought I still had a chance. Now I know better."

Kazari took a long, deep breath, and pulled away from Kuroko. She was able to stand on her own at that point.

"When I was younger, when Academy City was able to hide its darkness and prevent it from flooding into the streets, I was introduced to a group of esteemed, influential scientists. They're the most powerful around. At the time, they were only beneath the Director in terms of power. To give you an idea of how powerful these people are, I've heard truths, not rumors, that one of them acted as the number one's mentor," Kazari began.

Kuroko's eyes widened in recognition. "A-Accelerator?" She asked almost cautiously.

Kazari nodded in response, which confirmed that Kuroko had the right idea.

"That same man's son was working on a project to create artificial intelligence. Real artificial intelligence, capable of thought, capable of expressing a range of emotions. This project ended up moving in two directions. The first direction evolved into the OFFICER Network; the synthetic, mechanical police force that's currently doing everything other than actually policing Academy City. The second direction evolved into something much more sinister. I don't think the son of the number one's mentor intended it, but the result of the project's second direction ended up becoming capable not only of thought and emotion, but of replacing man."

Kuroko put the pieces together, and her lips parted.

"The result of the second direction was a being dubbed "D-001". The first Devastator unit. The beginning of the end. A one-robot army."

Kuroko was only able to pronounce a single syllable; everything had happened so fast; the level four teleporter only had only been given mere seconds to react. Kazari had suddenly produced a small, concealed pistol. Kuroko hadn't felt it when Kazari had been pressed against her earlier, so it had obviously been in some pocket on the other side of her body; Kuroko couldn't see any pockets on Kazari's clothes, other than those of her pants.

Kuroko had teleported as soon as she saw the weapon, narrowly avoiding a bullet that followed soon after. Kazari cringed at her own failure. At first, Kazari began to run again. As long as the young woman was able to keep the teleporter at bay, she could potentially escape. "I could make my way back to D-001, we can get back on track, kill them all… Yeah. That's the first thing we'll do. I'll use D-001 to kill them all. Everyone who betrayed me. I'll…"

Kazari saw Kuroko flash past her vision; she looked more like a sentient blur than a human being. If Kazari had been mere inches closer, she would've been struck down by the teleporter's fist. "FUCK! Fuck your stupid ability! Just DIE!" Kazari screamed as she fired blindly. She spun around, shooting in every conceivable direction in a vain attempt to hit the teleporter.

Kuroko had teleported to the safety of a nearby parked car, one of many in a parking lot. A skyscraper directly across from the parking lot towered above the teleporter. Kuroko examined it as she tried to block out the sounds of fired shots and the shrieking, raving Uiharu Kazari. "I can find my way up there, call for backup. If an entire squad shows up and sees her behaving like this, they'll gun her down; that would take the heat off me. Or I could apprehend her myself." The teleporter sprung into action; she had combed over her few options, and had decided on what course of action she would take.

Kazari felt two hands grip her shoulders, and her eyes widened when a glancing blow struck her body. She felt like she had just been hit across the back with a baseball bat; her stomach churned, and her body, reeling from the shock of the attack, crumpled and hit the ground. Kuroko had viciously kneed Kazari in the back.

The teleporter bent down and wrapped her fingers around Kazari's firearm. Kuroko then stood tall and lifted the weapon. She spent a few moments examining it before she looked down at Kazari, who was clutching her stomach in pain.

"During our training, when we first joined Judgment when we were kids, do you remember what we were taught, Kazari?"

"I won't give you the satisfaction," Kazari snapped. She looked back with a glare; the younger esper's voice was full of malice.

"We were always taught to safely apprehend criminals. We couldn't take them into custody, but we were to stop them without the use of lethal force."

A smirk crossed Kuroko's face. "This isn't Judgment, Kazari. I can use lethal force. You fired shots at an officer. There's nothing stopping me now. I'll just say "I'm sincerely sorry, Tessou-Sama but I had to defend myself!" Anti Skill personnel have to do what they have to do, after all…"

"What are you waiting for then?" Kazari demanded. She clenched her fists, and closed her eyes as tightly as she could. "Do it. Be a big girl, take responsibility, and do it."

Kuroko stood still, looking out at the neon lights shining throughout what remained of Academy City, contemplating what action she would carry out, and what events would come to pass as a result of her choice.

The teleporter sighed, shook her head, and placed her hand against the fallen Kazari's bare hand. In an instant, both were gone, leaving only the street that had become their battlefield behind.

"What gives? Why did you decide to help me?" Mikoto demanded, approaching Devastator as sparks jumped from her forehead. Drones that weren't engaging Anti Skill were firing their lasers at her; in response, she raised, lowered, and moved magnetized robotic officers around to absorb the beams. The level five electromaster didn't even look at the mindless automatons that tried to kill her.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Devastator replied. "Could you not do that electricity thing again, though? I almost turned into an amnesiac. I—"

The machine held its head high. It didn't let itself look anything short of completely confident. Still, its tone of voice became soft and almost meek. "An amnesiac. Someone who… can't remember. I almost… forgot. Almost lost my… memories. Memories. Ha. There's something poetic here."

For a split second, Mikoto saw its confidence fade, and a forlorn expression cross what was left of Devastator's face. It swiftly regained its composure, however, and continued. "What's with this robot? It's being so weird. One minute, it's being cocky, the next, it's all depressive."

"Luckily for me, everything I need to know about myself and the world around me can be fetched by my Random Access Memory. Useful, I know! Creator was skilled at constructing his own undoing, though he's pretty useless at just about everything else."

Anti Skill troopers shot drones out of the sky and fired rounds at robotic officers, most hitting them directly in the lenses that sat in the centers of their faces, rendering those that they hit inoperable. The sounds of the firefight raging around the Railgun and Devastator didn't seem to have much of a psychological effect on either.

"How long do you think fatty here is going to stay out of commission?" Devastator asked, motioning to the fallen Iron Wall.

"Don't try and get all chummy with me, robot." Mikoto replied with a snarl. "You'll join it if you try anything funny."

"Funny? I get the feeling I'm not being very well-received, Misaka Mikoto. Is there a failure to communicate? Can't we kiss and make up?" It asked.

"You can kiss my ass." Mikoto snapped back. She began to feel around inside of her pockets. Her fingers ran over the flat, smooth texture of one of the custom-made pieces of metal she used as ammunition for her Railgun ability. Though she had been contending with halting a hail of bullets being fired from all directions by robotic officers, she was able to multitask quite well. She spared a thought to wonder why the officers even used bullets made of a metal that could be magnetized, given that electromasters were so common in Academy City.

"I'm sure there are men who pleasure themselves to that very thought in mind on a nightly basis; big, strong, muscular men who, after a long day of working to support a family they resent, just can't get their crazy on with their respective mates. They need the thought of you, or maybe someone who looks like you." Devastator 'winked' knowingly, then continued taunting Mikoto. "But I'm not a man, so your charms won't work on me."

Mikoto made note of the (semi-failed) attempt to rile her up as soon as the machine had begun to talk. "Figures you'd know about them. Leave them at out of this. You're depraved," she replied, a disgusted look on her face.

Devastator began to move towards Mikoto, and her grip on her ammunition tightened in response. With a flick of her wrist, a Railgun blast that was able to rip through just about anything could be fired. "Am I? I've seen depraved, Misaka Mikoto. A sexually charged joke here and there isn't depraved. You want to know what depraved really is? I can tell you all about it. Let's talk about Creator. He keeps women as prisoners. Women who have done no wrong. Creator harvests their milk. Creator consumes it, for his own sick gratification. He offered me a glass once. For reasons that should be obvious, I refused."

The Railgun felt her stomach become queasy at the description. A chill ran down her spine, and her mind displayed images that she didn't even want to visualize, yet she simply did. Her own fully developed bosom began to ache at the thought of such a horrifying fate.

"I'm not the bad guy, Misaka Mikoto. I'm a good guy. I'm trying to do the right thing," Devastator explained.

"So-called 'good guys' don't try and kill people they've just met," Mikoto stated.

"Candidly speaking, I didn't know who you were at first. Even when you informed me, you managed to find me in a delicate situation, and I lost my cool. I was never shown images of the highest ranked espers. I was created for a singular purpose: I was created to kill all espers. But it was your kind especially, those who have reached level five, the pinnacle of the Old Academy City, that I was inevitably charged with killing. Creator's subtlety is astonishing. If we're going to stay on the topic, it's also ironic, I find, that some of my greatest adversaries seek to kill the lot of you." The machine 'laughed', and Mikoto cringed as the sound assaulted her eardrums. "It's… horrible! It sounds like… I don't know what it sounds like. I've never heard anything like it before…"

"According to Creator's logic, ability-stealing half breeds weren't enough. Creator wanted something stronger. Still, Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun, the thorn in the side of true depravity, an enemy of my enemy, I shouldn't have tried to kill you. I was wrong."

"The way you said "Old Academy City" makes me think you're on some sort of power trip yourself," Mikoto commented.

"I don't care about espers," Devastator replied flatly. "I care about three things; regaining what I've lost, protecting good people, and striking back at those who've wronged me. The rest is nonsense."

The Iron Wall began to stir; as it attempted to rise, Mikoto simply shot more electricity at it in response. The monstrous machine slumped back down into the earth as smoke began to flow from its shaking, sparking body.

"We're going to have to do something about that," Devastator said, changing the subject. "Fatty, Fatty Two by Four here is going to keep on getting back up until someone knocks it off-line."

Not even bothering to continue to verbally respond, Mikoto sprung into action with deadly intent; her hand emerged from her pocket, and in it she held a singular piece of ammunition between her index finger and thumb. Closing one eye, she lined the object up with her target, the Iron Wall – the miscreation was certainly large enough of a target.

"Misaka-san! Run! We're losing their attention!" The voice of Tessou Tsuzuri cried out.

Mikoto's conscious mind barely registered the exclamation. She felt herself soaring through the air; for a moment, Mikoto likened her state of existence to that of a feather on the wind as her vision spun. When she had made contact with the ground seconds later, she found that her eyes had focused on the night sky. The level five electromaster saw a swarm of drones, their lasers focused on Devastator. The war machine moved about, firing particle streams at the swarm, most of which ducked, rolled, and dodged out of the way. Some stragglers that were caught in the streams fell from the sky. She gathered more robotic officers, and formed a cocoon of twisted metallic bodies around herself. She heard the sounds of lasers attempting to cut through her cocoon more than she felt them. Still, Mikoto felt dazed.

"It… saved me?"

She had little time to reflect, as she 'felt' the Iron Wall rise to its full height once again.

"I'm getting really sick of these robots!" Mikoto ranted loudly enough for all to hear; she snapped out of her strange state of mind with a shake of her head. Her messy, chestnut brown locks were tossed about.

"'I'm right here, you insensitive cretin! Not nice!" Devastator yelled back as it cut a swathe through the swarm of combat drones.

"Like I care!" Sparks jumped from Mikoto as the Iron Wall rushed towards her. Beneath its every step the earth crunched and broke. Any robotic officer unlucky enough to be caught in its warpath was mercilessly trampled and broken beneath the hulking android. The Iron Wall rose up on its hind legs, crossed its arms across its chest, and its semi-invisible barrier formed in front of it.

With Devastator combating the drones that had turned their attention away from Anti Skill, Mikoto was given the opportunity to unleash her ace in the hole; her signature ability.

"Shit, I don't know if it'll be able to break through that barrier… only one way to find out!"

Mikoto dropped her cocoon as quickly as she had formed it, and her ammunition became airborne. Her ammunition's flight was followed by the deafeningly loud sound of a railgun blast. Bright blue electric currents flowed freely from the level five; the night's darkness was pushed away and daylight seemed to have returned for the seconds that the blast travelled towards its intended target. Street lamps flashed on and off repeatedly and lights that were left on in apartment complexes around Mikoto flickered. Devastator gripped its head in apparent discomfort, drones faltered in the air, and robotic officers stumbled, allowing Anti Skill to gain the upper hand; the intense electric interference was too much even for Academy City's advanced tech.

The railgun blast made contact not with the Iron Wall's deflective barrier, but with the robot's torso itself; perhaps, if electricity hadn't emerged from Mikoto during her railgun blast's launch, the robot might have stood a better chance. Instead, the electricity had interfered with the Iron Wall's connection to the OFFICER network, and its barrier had fallen. Both of the robot's forearms were ripped from its body, leaving behind useless stumps; the blast didn't stop there. Though the Iron Wall dug its toeless feet dug into the pavement, it was continually pushed back regardless. The brown, delicately patterned walkway was ripped apart, and multiple benches became victims of collateral damage. Mikoto could acknowledge a decent attempt when she saw one, but the Iron Wall still failed to cling to survival. The railgun blast pierced the machine's 'chest', leaving an enormous, smoking hole behind. The broken robot attempted to take to the skies, but with only its legs remaining, it only had half of its thrusters; not nearly enough to support its titanic weight.

"TACTICAL RETREAT SUBROUTINE ENGAGED REMOTELY BY ADVISOR; UNIT "IRON WALL" DEEMED LOST CAUSE BY CONTROL TOWER. DISCONNECTING UNIT "IRON WALL", the robotic officers and airborne drones spoke together at once. The OFFICER network fell back, giving the Anti Skill troopers a desperately needed reprieve from their fight. Devastator couldn't resist blowing a few of the mindless machines out of the sky.

Disconnected from the OFFICER Network, the cyan eyes of the Iron Wall went blank. The robot's empty husk became inert, tumbled forward and slammed into the ground with a great thud.

"A death worthy of a puppet." Devastator commented, giving the Iron Wall's shell a kick.

"I won't thank you for your presence during this conflict," Tsuzuri said, addressing Devastator. The machine turned to face the Anti Skill officer. It looked down at the face hidden beneath her armored helmet expectantly. "But I'll acknowledge it."

"Lucky me," Devastator replied sarcastically.

"Now, if you could…" Tsuzuri spoke, before she hesitantly stopped. Mikoto gave her a serious and permission-seeking look. Tsuzuri read it as best as she could. "Let me handle this"? I can't… Who am I kidding? Anti Skill is a joke. Alright, Misaka-san. If you were anyone else, I'd have you escorted to safety, and, more importantly, pushed out of Anti Skill's affairs. This is going to be embarrassing enough as it is. But I know who you are, and what you're like; maybe you'll be able to negotiate with it better than we can. Are we really even needed anymore? Maybe we should all just retire early."

Tsuzuri, regardless of her inner turmoil, nodded in response, and Mikoto smiled thinly. The level five electromaster turned her attention to Devastator.

"Do you have a name?" Mikoto asked. She tried to mask her contempt for the machine.

"I thought you'd never ask. You can call me Devastator, or, you may refer to me using my originally designated codename, D-001. Your choice. Just, for the love of… don't call me "ro-man". Anything but ro-man," the machine responded enthusiastically. Mikoto raised an eyebrow quizzically, but didn't let her guard down.

"From your earlier comment, I get that you're at least somewhat aware of those experiments that used my DNA map," Mikoto said, initiating her attempt at diplomacy. "If I can't find a way to kill it, we'll get it under control. Anti Skill will know what to do… I just need to smooth talk this thing."

"Not counting the common rabble, who doesn't know about the Level Six Experiments?" Devastator asked, an air of superiority in its voice. "Grandpa Kihara did some messy things. Then he dropped off the map when his evil plan fell apart; but that was before my time. How do I know? Creator went on and on about the old sack of bones and male enhancement medication, and how Creator wouldn't be another failure."

Mikoto shuttered at the memories that were unearthed. Kihara Gensei… she hoped the man slept eternally in a shallow, unmarked grave. "Y-yeah… but what I'm saying here is, before those experiments came to an end, I tried to bring an end to them by myself. I destroyed every facility I could find, destroyed every page of research notes, wrecked every computer, but new facilities popped up to replace the ones I brought down. In the end, I actually ended up furthering those experiments because I tried to deal with everything on my own."

"You couldn't do so on your own, so you gathered a band of fearless adventurers to defeat the evil senior's residence escapee. I think that's the gist of it. Supposedly, the fifth and seventh ranked were involved," Devastator responded.

Mikoto scowled. "I don't know why you're making light of all this, especially if you know what happened. Probably just to piss me off. Well, guess what? It's working. But the point I'm trying to get across is: trying to deal with everything yourself isn't the way to go."

"So, what's this? You'd recruit me? Ha. I'm not becoming a strung-up puppet of Academy City again. As much as I enjoyed your anecdote, I'm afraid I'm not working alone. Excluding those whose loyalty is bought, I have Uiharu Kazari," the mechanical monstrosity replied. It then began to look around, turning its head from side to side on its long neck. "Speaking of which, where did she run off to? Bad blood there, Misaka Mikoto?"

"She's actually with you?! There's no way! You must've brainwashed her or something! Uiharu-san would never willingly work with someone like you!" Mikoto shouted, shock and confusion evident in her voice.

Devastator nodded and attempted to imitate a human's chuckle, 'closing' its 'eyes' as it did so. "It's a long story. But she joined my cause of her own volition. She's no slave; she's free to walk away if she decides to, but she won't, because she's a smart enough woman to realize that things need to change. Oh, and thanks for calling me a "someone" and not a "something". It's less demeaning."

"Uiharu-san is in the custody of the Reformatory in district seventeen, Tessou-Sama," Kuroko announced. She had teleported directly next to her superior. "I'll explain my reasoning behind my performing of an arrest in my repor…" The teleporter stopped mid-sentence as she felt the tension of the scene playing out before her. "Am I interrupting something?" Kuroko asked, looking first to the robot, and then to her electric princess.

"Really?! REALLY?!" Devastator shouted, losing its composure. It clenched its fists, and stomped about in a rage. "What a nincompoop! Busted by the feds!"

Mikoto looked on awkwardly at the sight before her. She took that time to silently plan – Kuroko's revelation could have made diplomacy with this robot even more difficult.

"I'm going to have to bust her out now! Ugh! Prison breaks are such a pain in my ass!" Devastator complained loudly, kicking the ground. The brown walkway cracked and shattered at the point of impact with the machine's skeletal foot.

"Or… you could co-operate with us!" Mikoto exclaimed, as if to remind the machine of their derailed conversation.

"You stick my mothe… colleague! in the slammer, and you expect me to 'co-operate' with you? Forget it, you angry, vindictive little woman!" Devastator snapped back at the electromaster.

"She was placed in a holding cell for her own safety, and for the safety of the public. Uiharu-san's mental state is quickly deteriorating. From the Reformatory, she can receive the treatment required to ensure the stability of her mental health, and the help she needs to work towards restoring it." Kuroko stated flatly. Devastator spun around to face the Anti Skill officer.

"She doesn't need the help of your nanny state!" Devastator shouted angrily.

"If you really care about your so-called colleague, you'll allow the Reformatory's team of psychotherapists to aid her in her recovery." Kuroko replied; she didn't raise her voice, and if the teleporter was feeling frustrated, her face didn't convey it. Mikoto, as well as Kuroko's fellow Anti Skill officers looked on, impressed with the calm, collected de-escalation attempt.

Kuroko cleared her throat and then continued.

"Maybe we can come to a mutual understanding. I think that would be best for all who are involved, yourself included."

Devastator cocked its head. It offered Kuroko only an unreadable expression.

"A 'mutual understanding'? Ha… nobody's tried to understand me before. Why should I try and understand you people?" It asked.

"Let us help you," Kuroko responded; the teleporter remained on the offensive. She wasn't going to let her Anti Skill training go to waste. "Let us show you that we're not trying to hurt you, or your colleague. You can trust us. Anti Skill isn't just a security force. We're here to help, too."

Kuroko cringed as the mechanical monstrosity began to vocalize its sickening laugh. She would've preferred to have heard nails dragged across a chalkboard.

"Trust? Trust you? I don't trust anyone but me. I only trust myself, because, when it comes down to the nitty gritty, Deputy… that's all I have. I know what I'm thinking about, and whether or not I'm lying to myself. When everything you've ever cared about is taken from you, well, you only have yourself and your desire to get that everything back. Well, that's how it starts."

The machine began to pace, its mouth contorted into a twisted half-smile.

"When you've been down this road for as long as I've been, well, you come to a sort of… you come to a knowing. You realize that you can never get your everything back. That, while you thought you were walking down a road, you've really been walking into a brick wall the whole time. Too tall to climb over, too long to walk around. Most would sit down in front of the wall and accept the wall's presence. I didn't."

Mikoto decided to speak up. She breathed in, opened her mouth, and commanded her lips and tongue to begin producing words. "What if there was someone at the top of the wall with their hand outstretched, offering to help you get to the other side?" The level five electromaster asked.

"Most would take the hand without a second thought," Devastator retorted. "I would question the intentions of the 'savior' atop the wall."

"Maybe that's where everything went wrong for you!" Mikoto shouted, her anger beginning to build inside of her again. Her limbs trembled as she spoke without thinking. "Maybe, if you'd trust someone, you wouldn't be in this situation right now, looking like you're half dead!"

Devastator snapped. Swiftly, it raised its wrists to Mikoto, and it fired two particle streams directly at the electromaster. The level five reached out and manipulated both streams with her ability, directing both safely into the ground.

"Stop lashing out at everything around you!" Mikoto yelled. Her face had become red, and her breathing quickened. "This isn't going to solve anything! You're just going to make everything worse!"

The events that came to pass shook Mikoto to her core.

The streams ceased; Devastator had realized they were ineffective, given what they were composed of. Such weapons wouldn't be effective against an electromaster of Mikoto's calibre.

Kuroko vanished from sight; Tsuzuri didn't seem to have noticed. She reappeared behind the towering mechanical monstrosity. At first, Mikoto thought she was looking for a flaw to exploit in the robot's design. Instead, Kuroko appeared directly in front of the machine. She looked up at it, undaunted.

"Co-operate with us, Devastator, or D-001. Whatever you prefer to be called. We'll help you get your everything back. It sounds to me like you've had a rough past… a lot of us here in Academy City have suffered. There's a lot of people worth hating here. But there's a lot of good people here too. Sometimes we all need a helping hand. If you trust someone just this once, we'll help you over the wall you can't pass. We'll help you learn that you can trust other people. We'll help you get your everything back, if only you stop this lunacy."

Mikoto wanted to scream at Kuroko to teleport away; in her mind, the level five electromaster could see so many different outcomes. Though they all began differently, they all seemed to conclude in the same fashion: the ripping of flesh, the breaking of bones. She could hear the shrieks of agony and that hideous, unnatural laugh. Except nothing like that happened.

Devastator looked on, as if it were concentrating deeply on something known only by itself. At first, it simply stared down at Kuroko. Then, it nodded. Slowly, and as if it were only partially aware of its actions.

Kuroko continued to look up at Devastator with patient, determined eyes.

"Do you agree to co-operate with us? Are you willing to let us help?"

Devastator shifted its weight, but didn't verbally respond. The machine looked past Kuroko.

"I can't really teleport you anywhere. You're too heavy. Instead, I can request an armored vehicle for transportation. It can be at our location in only a few minutes," Kuroko stated.

Finally, Devastator responded. It gave a shrug, which caused its upper body to hum quietly. "Alrighty, Deputy. I'll end up regretting this. But let's see how long we can do the same ol' song and dance," It conceded with very little emotion in its synthetic voice. Without so much as another word, the color faded from its body, though it still stood tall. Its mouth closed, and its fingers dangled from its hands; its arms hung at its sides. The robot almost looked like a soldier standing at attention.

Mikoto reached out to it magnetically; she 'searched' for its consciousness, but found only still-functioning mechanical body parts, which dutifully continued to work while the robot 'slept'.

The level five electromaster regrouped with Kuroko and the rest of Anti Skill; the deafening silence that had fallen upon the street-turned-battlefield sent a chill down Mikoto's spine. Tsuzuri and her troopers moved to secure the 'sleeping' Devastator, while Mikoto approached Kuroko.

"Kuroko… how did you even do that? Y-you're… you're so brave."

Kuroko looked at her electric princess, and smiled thinly. "It's not about bravery; it's all comes down to Anti Skill training, Onee-Sama. All I really did was apply my knowledge of diffusing a hostage situation to this incident. Any one of my fellow officers could've done it. I guess I decided to take the unconventional route; not every problem has to be met with violence."

Mikoto turned her head; the level five electromaster could see the slumbering machine being scrutinized in her peripheral vision. Some Anti Skill troopers were examining the box-like objects wired to its wrists. Others were trying to get a closer look at its colorless eyes, though none appeared to be tall enough to do so.

"I'm not going to stop thinking that it's brave, just because you want to discredit yourself, Kuroko," Mikoto stated.

Kuroko had no need to speak another word. The teleporter took her electric princess' hand in her own hands, gently raised it to her lips, and kissed it. Once, then a second time. The electromaster furiously blushed and her mind raced. "Kuroko what are you doing?! Kuroko why are you kissing my hand?! I like the attention I really really like it but at the same time this is kind of embarrassing HELP?"

Kuroko released the hand of the object of her affection. It fell limp at Mikoto's side; it swayed back and forth, carried by momentum. "Kuroko?"

"Onee-Sama." Kuroko replied softly; a small grin had formed on the teleporter's face.

Kuroko had spoken the truth; some five minutes following the teleporter's interaction with Devastator, not one, but two armored Anti Skill vehicles arrived on the scene. Tsuzuri and most of the officers under her command piled into their own vehicles, ready to return to their headquarters in school district seven for a well-earned night's rest.

Mikoto noticed a small group of officers; she watched as they laid Devastator down, back against the shattered walkway, and then tried (and failed) to lift it.

"E-excuse me officers, I'm an electromaster! I can lift the robot with my ability. Don't sweat it, eheheh!" Mikoto awkwardly stammered.

"Anti Skill appreciates your offer, Railgun," one of the officers responded. They turned to face the level five. "But we can get this mess cleaned up unaided. Be on your way."

"A-alright! Just wanted to check! I thought it m-might be a bit rude to, you know…" Mikoto conceded half-heartedly. "I just wanted to help. Maybe it's just me, but he seemed really rude. Whatever; phooey on him, then."

The officer who had addressed her simple grunted in response and returned to his work. Once Mikoto turned her back to the scene, the group eventually managed to lift Devastator a few feet from the ground and began to slowly, carefully move it towards the open doors of an armored vehicle.

"Onee-Sama," Kuroko said, addressing the Railgun. Mikoto froze up, and panic swept over her; she had walked some ten feet away from the scene. The realization dawned on her; "I forgot that Kuroko was still here… crap, crap, crap!"

"H-hi Kuroko! Nice weather!" Mikoto loudly exclaimed. Though she tried to mask her anxiety, she only began to feel it grow. She forced a smile, and raised her eyebrows.

"Thank you for your help tonight, Onee-Sama. Though my fellow officers don't like to admit it, we need to reach out to civilian vigilantes more often. If you hadn't been here to watch out for us, well, I don't want to think about what could've happened. We could've very well ended up losing good men and women," Kuroko said with a warm smile. She nodded approvingly.

Mikoto's anxiety faded, and she found herself smiling just as naturally as her old friend. "I'm glad I was able to help, Kuroko."


	15. A Certain Married Couple II

Light was the first thing Touma noticed as his eyes opened; daylight's rays passed through the closed windows of the couple's apartment, and bathed the room in a natural warmth. Though he had expected himself to be in laying in bed, he instead found himself on the couch, with a fluffy, comfortable pillow beneath his head. Touma didn't find himself alone; Misaki had evidently snuggled herself into his arms at some point during the night. Her own arms were wrapped around her beloved's waist. The young woman had her own pillow beneath her head, and her lips were curled into a content smile. She wore little other than her green dress, which served as nightwear. Touma wasn't sure, but he had good reason to believe that his wife knew that particular dress was great at getting him going.

Pushing the sexual thoughts from his mind, Touma reached into his pants pocket, and produced his phone. Touma unlocked the device and checked the time.

"9:18? Huh…"

The young man decided to make his move. He softly ran his fingers over his wife's cheek. He traced a singular line from the top of her cheek and down to her chin. In response, Misaki made a small sound that Touma found absolutely adorable, moved herself even closer to him, then tightened her grip on Touma's midsection. "She's always been a pretty heavy sleeper. I could just get up by myself… Nah. Misaki's an early riser; she'd probably be miffed if I let her sleep in too late. Time for plan B!"

Touma brushed Misaki's blonde bangs away from her face; though her hair was tied back, delicate little locks still often found their way onto her face while she slept. Touma leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead.

Misaki's eyes opened slightly. Her content smile only grew warmer as she looked up to Touma.

"Mm. Touma. Good morning, my prince," she half-muttered. The atmosphere in their home was already a positive one. Bathed in the sun's protective rays, Misaki found herself back in her paradise. It hadn't been long since she left it, if one were to count the days; yet the young woman felt as if it had been weeks since she had visited her sanctuary.

"I want to spend this day making love to my Touma, holding my Touma close. Can I do that? That is what I would like to do. If not here, then in our bed. Even if we did not speak so much as a single word, as long as we could revel in our own existences, I would be satisfied."

"And good morning to you too, beautiful," Touma replied; he couldn't help but grin. "Even if she's an early riser, she's never been a big morning person. She's so cute when she's just waking up. I just want to…"

Touma leaned in once again, and took Misaki's chin in his left hand. The young woman's eyes widened as her husband's lips made contact with hers. Seconds passed before Misaki closed her own eyes and began to run her hands through Touma's already messy hair. Her barely-awake mind immediately began to change gears; she felt a particular sexual desire; the desire to dominate. This was far from a rare desire; sometimes, this part of her sexuality would surface. "I want him. I want my Touma. I crave his touch, his presence…"

The sound of the couples' lips parting, becoming one, and then parting again was all that could be heard in the silence of their apartment. Misaki soon found that she had enough of wrecking her husband's hair, and took control. She gently took Touma's hands in her own, and slowly, purposefully guided them to her rear. She felt her lover grip her plump bottom, and she moaned in pleasure. Misaki's breathing grew faster, and she felt her body growing warmer. Her mind began to demand instant gratification. "I want to push myself on Touma; I want to mount him, feel him inside of me, and just… ride, and ride, and ride… I want to fuck my Touma. MY Touma. Aalllll mine. I want Touma to kiss me from head to toe. I… Oh. You have been turned into a sick and perverted woman, Kamijou Misaki. You have been corrupted."

"I have only just awoken, and already I want you. I want you so badly. Do you have any idea of what you do to me, Touma? You turn me into a pervert." Misaki purred.

As Touma sat up, Misaki noticed a large bulge in her husband's pants, and her lips curled into a devious grin. She sat up as well; though she mimicked her husband, she would still take the lead. "It looks like you want me too."

"I do want you," Touma breathed. His eyes locked with Misaki's. "You drive me crazy, Misaki. You're perfect, your everything is flawless… Fuck it, let's put everything aside right now and get going! Don't make me beg."

"Maybe I will make you beg, corruptor." Misaki whispered into Touma's ear. Her lips were mere inches from Touma's ear, and chills ran down the young man's spine as he shivered in anticipation. Misaki made contact with Touma's ear. She whispered softly, which made his body tingle. Touma moved to grab his wife's hips, intending to viciously pull her close, but the inner seductress Misaki reserved only for her adored mate had taken complete control over her actions. Like a huntress who had cornered her prey, Misaki leapt into action. She stopped Touma's hands and, with some force, pushed them back. She was a physically powerful woman, even if she wasn't an athletic one. She was a match for her husband's strength. At first, he looked at his wife quizzically.

"What's up? You said you wanted it. Don't be a tease, you." Touma grumbled, before his face betrayed the concern that was beginning to slowly grow inside of him. "You DO want it though, right? I don't want to push you to do anything you don't want to do. I understand what it's like. I know sometimes I act on things that I didn't really mean or want to, and…"

"Shh." Misaki said softly as she cut her beloved off mid-sentence. She took Touma's left hand in her own, and pressed her lips against his neck. "You are such a gentleman. I love you so, so much. You are everything a woman could ever ask for… so let me reward you by taking control of your body for a little while. Let me take care of you. You are not going to have to do ANY work this morning. Lay back, and let me make you feel good."

Touma caught on quickly enough, and his lips curled into an awkward smirk of arousal in response. "Okay then, Mistress Misaki… Whatever you say."

"Is THAT what you want, Kamijou Touma? Do you want to role play with me? Would you like it if I dressed up for you? Would you like to explore your fetishes with me? I encourage you to tell me everything," Misaki stated, her face inches away from her husband's. Touma could smell the honey scent of her hair, and it only served to drive him closer to wild savagery. Touma's body yearned for release, to become one with his other half. All conscious thoughts were forgotten as his animal instincts took the reigns. "What would you like me to tease you with? My legs? I know all about how much you love my legs. You are always touching them. I love it, though. You can do to me whatever you desire, whenever you desire, my prince." Misaki's predatory grin only widened as she continued to force Touma's hands away from her body.

"I-t's not really a fetish! A fetish is, like, being into having hot wax dumped on you!" Touma exclaimed almost defensively. "Lots of guys are into legs!" Despite his outburst, the mood hadn't been ruined. Misaki simply giggled softly.

"I agree, baby. But if it's my legs that you are interested in, there is no need for you to hold back. You think I will mind? No. You can touch them, kiss them… anything you want." Misaki purred in response. She released Touma's hands, and then proceeded to pin him beneath her.

"But not this morning. This morning, you are not allowed to place a single finger on me. I will be doing the touching."

"Beautiful, do you know what you're doing? You're stepping into dangerous territory. I might just get myself on top, and, well… talk is cheap. I want you to scream my name," Touma growled, his breathing bordered on panting. Touma tried to break free, and forced his hands again towards his wife's body; Misaki rose up; she overpowered and denied him, giggling as she did so.

"So forceful! Where is your restraint now, my prince? When we were younger, you kept yourself locked away. I remember the first evening that we made love. You were such a shy boy; your face looked like you had a terrible sunburn, your pupils were round like marbles. "M-Misaki… can I t-touch you?" I found it so cute that you would ask. Most boys would have tried to force themselves on me. Ah, such a gentleman then, and such a gentleman now."

Misaki then removed herself from the couch; one bare foot, and then another met the floor; Standing tall, the desire to rip her dress from her body nearly overpowered her.

"Where're you going? Did I scare you? Or are you just preparing yourself? I can be rough, when I really get into it," Touma bragged. He adjusted his position on the couch so that he properly sat upon it, almost mimicking the way a king would sit upon a throne. Misaki found the obviously unintentional pose of confidence extremely arousing.

"I like it when you're rough with me. You know the boundaries we have set to ensure one another's personal comfort, and you never cross them. Before we begin, I am closing the blinds." Misaki winked. Unable to fight any longer, the young woman tore her dress from her body once the world beyond their apartment was shut out. "No one's allowed to see what we're going to get up to. Get those clothes off, go to our bedroom, and get protection. Now. I don't want anything getting in the way of my fun."

Some four hours later, Touma stepped out from the shower, followed by Misaki. The young man had watched his step, and effectively triumphed over whatever cosmic force caused the misfortune that followed him wherever he went. Touma began to dry himself off; he roughly ran his towel over his skin and through his fresh, now shampooed hair.

"Well, that's one way to start the day," Touma commented after he had removed his towel from his head. His hair was incredibly messy looking, and for a moment, as Misaki gazed upon her lover's imposingly tall, muscular body, she could compare him to a hero straight from the pages of a shonen manga.

"I needed that; I could get used to this becoming part of our morning routine." Misaki smirked and then winked at her husband, before she turned her back to him. Touma didn't even attempt to fight against his mind as his eyes became fixated on Misaki's rear. Why should he have tried to fight? Misaki shared her body with him, as he shared his with her. Their acts of love-making were sacred rituals, not the product of lust gone unchecked.

"I love it when you stare at me, my prince," Misaki commented knowingly. Though she had closed her eyes as she began to dry her body, she had periodically looked into the mirror and caught her husband red-handed. "You are welcome to do more than stare, in fact. We can always take another shower," she purred. She ran her comb through her hair before she wrapped one of her towels around it to help it dry. Misaki reached for her dress, and then looked to her husband.

"Last chance, handsome." She taunted.

"Don't tempt me," Touma replied as he finished drying himself. The young man tossed his towel over his shoulder; at that point, it was destined for the laundry hamper, along with the outfit he'd worn over the last couple of days. "By the way, are you hungry, beautiful? I'm dying here. Anything in particular you want me to make?" Touma asked.

Misaki turned to face Touma. "Why don't you let me make breakfast this morning, baby? Relax for a change," she offered. Misaki smiled warmly at her beloved, you always do so much around our home. Take a break, and let me worry about the chores. It wouldn't hurt for you to break away from your routine for one morning."

Touma sighed contently at the thought; though, with that in mind, he didn't know exactly what he was going to do. His daily routine often consumed most of his mornings and some of his afternoons. Though some part of him enjoyed it, he wasn't going to waste the opportunity presented to him. "Best wife ever," he stated, before he pecked his blushing lover on the lips and left their bathroom.

Touma left the bathroom door ajar behind him; the heat produced by the couple's warm shower escaped. Given that their apartment was air conditioned, as were most, if not all dwellings in Academy City, the change in temperature Touma experienced once he had stepped out was quite remarkable. As Touma walked to the bedroom with the intent of tossing his towel and his clothes into the laundry hamper, he became involved in his own thoughts.

"What day is it today, even? Let me think… All this craziness started on Friday – it was the start of the weekend, no work on weekends… Misaki was pretty mad the night before; those researchers bailed out on her, rescheduled for Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? I'll have to ask. That happened on Thursday. Since Friday, two days have passed. It's Sunday, then. Work's tomorrow."

As he began to carefully place items of clothing, as well as his towel into the hamper, the young man was startled to hear a cheery, singsong ringtone blaring from within the pocket of his pants, which were currently held in his hand, just about to be tossed in. Touma removed his phone, and examined the screen.

"BIRIBIRI calling…

Answer?

Yes No"

"I really need to change her name in my phone; if she ever saw that…" A chill ran down Touma's spine; flashbacks of having lightning hurled at him by an irate Railgun as a teenager came flooding back. He quickly slid the "yes" panel to the right, and placed the device to his ear.

"Misaka? Uh, hi!" Touma spoke into the device.

"Touma, you idiot!" Mikoto yelled, frustration evident in her voice. "I've been calling you all morning! Is it really that hard to pick up a phone?!"

"It's been a while since you called me that," Touma replied. He couldn't force back the chuckle that came along with his response. "Sorry, I was kinda busy. You could've just texted me, you know."

"No, I couldn't have! Don't pretend to forget about that stupid habit of not replying to texts you have! Rrrgh. You're such a pain sometimes. I don't know HOW Misaki puts up with you," Mikoto snapped back, and Touma couldn't help but chuckle even more. "Leave it to Misaka to overreact. It's funny, unless I'm anywhere near her when she's mad… then it's just terrifying."

"Anyways!" Mikoto exclaimed. She cleared her throat before she continued. "I thought I'd call to let you know that all that stuff with those robots is over. We killed the big one, and Kuroko smooth talked the other one. Anti Skill has it in custody, so, don't worry yourself into a frenzy." As she finished her sentence, Touma noticed that her voice became softer; apparently, her anger had all but dissipated.

There was a pause before Touma's reply came. "Smooth talked? How did she manage to do that? Thing's a killing machine."

"You're asking the wrong person; I guess she just said the right words? But yeah. It's all under control. Anti Skill's holding it at their headquarters. They're gonna figure out how to deal with it," Mikoto responded in a surprisingly reassuring tone.

Touma felt himself fall into a state of reflection; Mikoto's continued vocalizations were blocked from his mind. Subconsciously, the young man knew he'd regret it.

"Shirai-san talked to it? If she's still, well, if she's still alive, which I'm sure she is! and that thing's in custody, like Misaka said, she must've said the right thing. Only problem is; can you really tell something like that what it wants to hear? It sounded so calculating and without mercy. I feel like if you said the wrong thing, whatever that might be to it, it'd kill you. It's like a robot version of that bitch of an Archbishop. Would that make her an Archbitchshop? Agh, grow up, Touma. That's not even funny. Well, I guess it's kind of funny. Doesn't change the fact that I want to knock her out. Miserable, lying, deceiving—"

"Hey, Touma! Are you even listening to me? TOUMA!"

"Misaka, I think I want to talk to it."

"EH?!"

"Misaka, I want to talk to it. If Shirai-san could get through to it, then maybe it can be reached. Everyone deserves a second chance; just look at Accelerator," Touma replied with a firm tone. "I can't just lose hope. There has to be some small amount of good left in Academy City.I know your past with Accelerator is a touchy subject, and I know it always will be. Just try and understand where I'm coming from with the comparison."

Mikoto's stomach churned. As if Academy City needed another Accelerator. The electromaster knew Touma didn't mean to do so, but he had caused a wave of terrible, traumatizing memories to crash against her mind. The mangled remnants of thousands of her Sisters, Accelerator's deep, all-consuming psychosis, her own desire to find any way she could to put an end to their suffering… it all came back, and for a split second, Mikoto understood exactly why Kazari broke. Academy City had broken Kazari, as it had nearly broken Mikoto. Accelerator wasn't that kind of person anymore – Hell, it hadn't even really been his fault to begin with, but Mikoto's nausea didn't heed logical thoughts.

"Misaka? You still there? Is everything good? Hi! Is this you getting back at me for spacing out?" Touma's voice brought the Railgun back to reality.

"Don't worry about me, Touma. I'm fine! Honestly!" Mikoto said as she lied through her teeth. "I j-just got distracted, too! That's all. Lots to think about, eheheh. If you want to try and reach that, thing, I guess there's not a lot I can do to stop you. I've tried that time and time again, and it hasn't worked. Why would it work this time? You're so stubborn. Just know what you're getting yourself into; Kuroko told me she talked to it for a while this morning. It knows things."

As Touma was about to reply to the electromaster, he heard the sounds of Misaki going about her business; she hummed quietly to herself. Touma didn't recognize the tune, but the soft sounds were beginning to lull him into a relaxed state of mind. In that moment, he thought about what his true responsibility was. "Relax, Kamijou. You're not going off to shatter any illusions. You're not saving the world; you're not fighting magicians or crazy espers – you're just talking to something. If it's in Anti Skill's custody, they're going to have it watched by intense security… right?"

Touma returned to the present from his reflections. "So do we, Misaka. Before I start blindly hating this thing any more than I already do, I want to try and figure it out. I think I'm rational enough to know there are some people who're beyond saving and need to be stopped. Sure, I don't really know anything about this thing; we only really spoke for a few minutes, but I want to give it the benefit of the doubt."

"Of course you do." Touma couldn't see it, but Mikoto's lips had curled into a thin smile. "Of course you do, Touma. That's just who you are. You're a better person than me. I'd let the thing rot."

"Before I let you go, thanks for calling, Misaka. Whatever happens, I really appreciate that you were thinking about us. You're an amazing friend."

Mikoto counted her figurative blessings; Touma couldn't see it, but warmth had rushed to her face, and her cheeks became beet red. "Thanks, Touma. You're an amazing friend too! I, uh, I have to go! Take care of yourself and don't be an idiot! Also say hi to Misaki for me, okay? BYE!" Touma heard the familiar tone his phone produced when a call was ended. The young man picked up where he had left off before Mikoto had called him; he continued to think, though at that point, his thoughts had become centered around different topics entirely.

Some time had passed, and Touma had finished everything he had to do in the bedroom. He stepped into the hallway, and looked down at his new, clean attire. He wore a white tee shirt and a pair of baggy denim shorts. It was a simple, but comfortable outfit. As he stepped into the living room, a familiar smell suddenly hit him; his nostrils opened wide, and a sense of euphoria travelled throughout the young man's entire body. He could have recognized the intoxicating smell anywhere.

"P-pancakes?! Freshly made, not boxed?!" Touma thought excitedly. "Such fortune!"

The young man rushed into the kitchen, lead by his nose and a desire to immediately devour the glorious soon-to-be breakfast. Misaki turned her head to face Touma, and she smiled warmly. The young man noticed that his lover, too had changed into clean attire. She wore a pair of hot pink leggings, with a long blouse of the same color to match. On her hands she wore her white, lacy gloves. Her hair was neatly tied back, with her bangs pushed to the side, supported by her ear.

As she turned around, Touma saw the baby blue apron Misaki wore; it bore the remnants of defiant stains that had been washed and scrubbed at time and time again. In the end, the stains clearly had the last laugh. Misaki noticed the huge grin on her husband's face. "I am glad I can make you happy, baby. I think you deserve to be treated like the prince you are."

"When's it going to be ready?! I'm actually starving," Touma pressed, his mind consumed by thoughts of eating; though anxiety tried to maintain its grip on the young man's mind, his stomach's desire to be filled had taken priority over his hypothetical what-ifs and worries.

"Soon enough; you will have to be patient! I would love to have your company while I prepare our breakfast, unless you had something else in mind that you wanted to do! Today will be your day, Touma." Misaki said happily.

Touma's smile faded slightly, but he tried to ensure that it remained; it could be his day, if he'd let it be. "Misaki's so happy today. I know she doesn't want me to hide things from her, but maybe I should just leave this alone. That thing's with Anti Skill, probably locked away in a vault for the time being. I'd hate to put a damper on everything.

"No, that isn't fair. I can't just hide things from my wife. Stop being a dirt bag, Touma. Tell her everything that Misaka told you. Yeah. I think I'll do that. Alright, I'm gonna do it. Three, two, one… Why am I counting? It's not like she's gonna freak out. I'm being dumb as usual. No wonder Misaka calls me an idiot."

Touma both debated with himself, and berated himself internally for a few more minutes before he came to a decision.

"Misaki? Can we talk?" Touma asked; anxiety made its triumphant return within the young man. It clambered up from the dark crevice it had been tossed into, and resumed its spree of torment.

"Of course, baby. I am listening," Misaki replied; though she was unable to face Touma, as she was continuing to prepare their morning meal, her available attention was focused entirely on her husband.

"Misaka called; told me that the robot situation's been cleared up. That big one we saw on the news last night is… she said it's dead? Can robots really die? The other one is with Anti Skill, at their big building," Touma explained.

"Are Misaka-san and Shirai-san doing well? I hope no one was hurt," Misaki replied. Already, she knew for one hundred percent certain where Touma was going with this revelation.

"Touma, My prince, my hero. Your heart of gold burns with such passion. You have suffered through so much pain, such unbearable physical, mental and emotional agony, and you still want to see this City redeemed. You are too good for this City."

"I heard you talking on the phone, but I did not feel the need to pry into your personal conversation."

"Thanks for trusting me like that, Misaki. It means a lot these days. People are always stabbing other people in the back, lying, cheating, it's disgusting."

"You have never given me even a single reason not to trust you, my prince."

Touma smiled. "Misaka didn't tell me much. She told me Shirai-san was talking to that thing, so I'm sure she's fine. They're tough girls. It'd take more than some robots to bring them down," Touma chuckled in response. Misaki giggled softly.

"And now you feel the need to shatter its illusions." Misaki commented. She turned to her husband and smiled knowingly.

"I-I, well, well, yeah. Kind of. Not in the usual way, though! I'm not going to punch it! I wanted to try and talk to it. Reach out to it, I guess. It hurt me pretty bad; it still feels kinda sore where it hit me, but it could've done way worse. I don't know what I'm thinking, but…" Touma didn't have anything to continue with.

Misaki turned away from her work, and stood on her toes to reach Touma's height. She leaned in, and gently kissed him.

As she pulled away, much to Touma's disappointment, she spoke. "You do not have to explain yourself to me. Unless your thoughts involve running off in the middle of the night to be a superhero, which I know they do not, always remember, Touma. I will support you unconditionally in every way. If talking with this monstrosity is what you feel you must do, I will stand with you, like I always have, and always will."

"I want to know how you feel about this, though. I don't want to make important decisions without hearing what you have to say about it first. How you feel and what you think is really important to our marriage, and our marriage is beyond important to me, Misaki. It's everything." Touma spoke.

"Your needs, thoughts and emotions are everything to me, as well! Thank you, Touma… I cannot begin to express how happy I feel! I love it so much, how you consider my feelings, and don't just impulsively run away from me. Our marriage, our bond is so full of not only trust, but respect as well. Friends I speak to regularly voice their concerns to me, at times. Some, not all, of their significant others are often nowhere to be found, their phones turned off, engaging in who knows what. I am truly so fortunate.

"How do I feel? I feel that this world would be a better place without such a creation. I have no love for the machine. Why? I have no love for it because it hurt you, and threatened those who are close to me; but my feelings towards that automaton won't stop me from knowing that supporting you unconditionally is the right choice to make."

Before Misaki returned to her work, she made a request.

"Touma, I would like to come with you. I would feel much better being with you when you, we, meet with that hideous thing. There is very little my ability can do to it, and I have no good reason to think that Anti Skill would allow such a machine to roam free in any case, but, being there, with your hand in mine, would put any worries I would otherwise have to rest."

Touma chuckled quietly, as he grinned sheepishly. "I was actually going to ask you to come with me. I was having a hard time spitting it out, because I feel like I'm being selfish enough as it is."

"Selfish?" Misaki asked. She sounded almost bewildered. "You are a far cry from selfish. You are selfless. We are human, Touma, and no matter how old we become, we will always need someone's help. I would not want to have it any other way. 'til death do us part, and beyond, Kamijou Touma."

"'til death do us part, and beyond, Kamijou Misaki," Touma replied, a lump forming in his throat. The onset of emotion wasn't negative, however. Like Misaki, Touma heard stories, though his were of a different variety than Misaki's. The stories Touma would relay often revolved around what his co-workers called "bitches from Hell", which were shared around the lunchroom of the shipping and receiving warehouse he worked part-time in. Terms like "slave driver" and "fuckin' nag" often came up in conversation. One of his favorite co-workers, a mild-mannered man named Hiro went as far as to nickname his wife "Grendel"; apparently, Hiro had never read Beowulf, or perhaps he had, and he truly thought his partner was evil.

Some time had passed. The couple were just about finished their day's first meal. Touma sighed with satisfaction as he leaned back in his chair, set his fork and knife on his plate, and removed his arms from their kitchen table.

"Misaki, you're an INCREDIBLE cook, hooooolllly. Have I ever told you that before? I'm going to try and not make this a habit, because I like balancing our duties, y'know? But, I'd really like it if you made this for us again one morning. I'll pay you back! I'm a master in the art of food prep too," Touma spoke, placing a hand on his stomach, which felt quite bloated.

Misaki's cheeks were rosy, and her lips had curled into a delighted smile from the compliment. "It was nothing, baby. I only want to see you enjoy yourself. In regards to your offer, I may take you up on it; I have been craving barbeque. Anything barbequed would fulfil my craving."

"Your wish is my command," Touma responded, his face bore a look of half-feigned determination. A few moments after their combined laughter had settled, Touma placed his left hand on Misaki's leg, and returned to seriousness. "I was thinking, we could do some tidying up around the house, and then, would you be ready to… go?" The young man implored.

Misaki placed her hand on her husband's, and looked into his eyes. She could see her own starry pupils in his as she gazed intently. "If you are prepared, then so am I, my prince." came her response.

Kuroko stood impatiently across from a holding cell on the tenth floor of Anti Skill's Headquarters, one of many imposing skyscrapers in school district seven. The holding cell she had been tasked to watch over was of considerable size. Kuroko was unable to determine the exact dimensions, but she could guess that it was easily wider than twenty feet, and longer than thirty.

As if to keep her conscious mind from shutting down completely, the disgruntled Anti Skill officer turned her head from side to side. Sparkling clean white floors were beneath the teleporter's boots, and walls of a silver color figuratively closed around Kuroko. Her only real respite was, at either end of that row of cells, there was a large window; Academy City's desire to make every detail advanced in some way or another allowed Kuroko to look through the 'invisible' window without any visual obstructions.

Another officer assigned to guard duty emerged from an elevator, passed Kuroko by, gave a nod, and then entered another nearby elevator. It wasn't an uncommon sight, and that's what bored Kuroko even more. At the very we least, her fellow officer seemed determined to avoid the eyes of the mechanical monstrosity she guarded, which entertained Kuroko for some reason known only by her subconscious mind.

"Knock, knock." The metallic voice of Devastator spoke.

Kuroko sighed, and forced her brain to form a response.

"… who's there?"

"I had a really witty response planned. I was ready to spring it on you, and, so, I thought about it a little bit deeper," the machine began as it attempted to mimic human gestures as it spoke; it leaned against the bars of its cell, looking quite smug. "I don't think it's going to sound as good out loud. It sounds good in my head, but everything sounds good in my head. Can't really tell the difference between what's going to sound good and what's going to sound bad."

"Maybe you should just, I don't know, say it?" Kuroko huffed.

"Okay. I'm gonna drop it on you; get ready. You might want to sit down," the machine responded.

Kuroko remained standing tall, as she patiently waited for Devastator's response.

Before it could come, however, Kuroko felt her Anti Skill issued phone vibrate against her leg; it sat snuggly and securely inside of its case, which was strapped to her belt.

"The thrilling conclusion's got to wait, Devastator. Sorry, I have to take this. Could be something important." Kuroko pressed her finger against the 'answer' tab on the incoming call menu, and placed the device against her ear.

"You've reached Anti Skill; this is Officer Shirai speaking. What's your emergency?"

"Uh, hi Shirai-san. Did I call at a bad time?" The voice of Kamijou Touma spoke on the other end.

"No, Kamijou-san, hi! I have to answer every call that way, just in case. I hope you're feeling better. I take it that everything's okay?"

"Everything's fine, and I am, thanks. Misaka told me Anti Skill has that robot in custody."

"Yup, he's here."

"Would it be possible to arrange for a meeting with it?"

"Why would you want to do that? He's downright offensive. That aside, I guess he hasn't killed anyone or tried to break out of his cell… yet. It's possible. When and if you come in, I'll need someone to register your visit, and then sign you out when you're done. Since this isn't a Reformatory proper, there's not really any visiting hours. You can drop in any time you want, Kamijou-san."

"Thanks, Shirai-san."

The call ended, and Kuroko placed her phone back into its case. At first, the Anti Skill officer questioned why Touma wanted to talk to the robot, but she soon came to a conclusion. Her questions answered themselves; Touma wanted to try and reason with Devastator because Touma was Touma.

"How rude. If you're done… The decaying carcass of the Director dressed up as a drunken mall Santa!" the "punchline" finally came. Kuroko was anything but impressed.

"You shouldn't be talking about that, Devastator." Kuroko chastised.

"What are they going to do? Snipe me? I'd like to see them try. Bullets are nothing to me. I'm beyond their reach, and they hate it," the maniacal machine retorted.

"Anyways… what's the difference between a 'drunk mall Santa' and a 'regular mall Santa'? More importantly, I'm really concerned about being bored enough to even ask," Kuroko replied.

Devastator rose up to its full, imposing height, and made a sound that was similar to a human clearing their throat, as if it was about to deliver a lecture to an auditorium of students.

"A regular mall Santa might be an incestuous rapist and might be a child predator. A drunken mall Santa is an incestuous rapist and a child predator," the machine answered.

Kuroko groaned, shaking her head with disapproval. "Is this your idea of humor? That's not funny, Devastator. That's not something to make fun of. If something traumatizing happened to you, would you want it to be made fun of?"

"Been there, done that, Deputy." Devastator retorted with a distinct coldness in its synthetic voice.

Kuroko frowned. "Who laughed at you, Devastator?"

"Lots of people," the mechanical monstrosity retorted, "but I had the last laugh as I watched them die. Don't lose your temper, Shirai Kuroko; they were all naughty underworld researcher types, a cabal of killers. Experimented on… what're they called? Those little abandoned almost-people our lovely City likes to donate to science?"

"Child Errors," Kuroko said with a sigh. The Child Errors weren't something she liked to spent a lot of time dwelling on.

"Isn't that just a great name? These almost-people must feel bad enough, then the City goes and gives them a name like "Child Errors"? A wee bit harsh," Devastator critiqued. It looked down at Kuroko, and then wrapped its skeletal fingers around the bars of its holding cell.

"I have a, let's call him a friend, who was orphaned. He told me an interesting story when we first met. Little bum wasn't abandoned, his biological parents just had their brains splattered all over the floor of a "place where you get money from the boxes" is all. Now that I'm bringing it up, I never took the time to find out what a "place where you get money from the boxes" is. A bank, maybe?

He was powerful. Even at a young age, he could throw things around by thinking about it. Some sort of animal- I mean, esper ability. Excuse me, vocalization driver's a little on the messy side. Well, it's- I'm going to kill Creator when I find him; I'm going to rip his ribcage from his chest, and then I'm going to beat him to death with it. I'm going to kill every person he's ever talked to, every person he's ever looked at when he could still walk, before I ripped his legs off. I'm going to take his arms too, Shirai Kuroko. I'll bathe Academy City in Kihara blood! I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to come out. I'm usually really good with controlling the evil thoughts. Something might need to be put back in place up in my head. Let's try this again! AHEM!"

Kuroko's expression of concern grew to one of worry, though she didn't interrupt the machine. So far, it hadn't done anything to warrant any sort of retaliation. It seemed to be venting.

"He could move things with his mind. Not an entirely uncommon ability, but his was impressive. Impressive enough, apparently, to have him moved into the same facility as little old me. Creator told me he wanted to test my durability by having me withstand his ability – if I could last, what was it? A few minutes? Of being tossed around like a stuffed toy, I could withstand any esper with a similar, weaker ability. Alas, something happened that defied the expectations of those killers, Shirai Kuroko. We became fast friends in that cold, prison of a facility."

Devastator returned to its bed, and sat down on the edge; the bed's frame, though made from some high durability metal likely only found in Academy City, the piece of furniture still creaked and groaned beneath the machine's weight.

"Why did your friends put me in a cage with a bed? I hibernate standing up. I guess it's the thought that counts," Devastator commented.

"It's not a cage, Devastator. It's… you're not going to be in there for long. We're going to help you soon." Kuroko responded. "Before I forget, you're having visitors, if you'll see them. They should be here within the hour, traffic willing."

Devastator looked up at Kuroko, then folded its hands in its lap as it sat up straight, chin held high. "I'll be on my best behavior, Deputy. Who's comin' to the party?"

"Two people who were with me when we… when we met in district ten," Kuroko responded.

Devastator didn't verbally respond at first; instead, it quizzically raised its mechanical 'eyebrow' before it stood up from its bed and moved back to the bars of its cell.

It spoke in a sickeningly sweet voice, one that was almost patronizing. "That's awful sweet of them. I can't wait until they arrive."

Touma and Misaki stepped out from the advanced public transportation vehicle they had taken; the closest stop was some five or six blocks away from their destination. Once the vehicle had departed, Touma began to speak his mind; something of a tirade has built up inside of him.

"That bus… did someone drop dead in there? Air conditioned or not, the damn thing stunk," Touma complained. "Was it just me? Or did you smell it too?"

Misaki nodded, an unattractive look had formed on her face. She stuck her tongue out and shuttered. "No, I caught a whiff of it, too. Such misfortune," Misaki huffed.

"Hey! That's my thing. I guess you can use it, though."

"Ah, thank you, baby." Misaki retorted sarcastically. The two shared a chuckle before their moment was invaded.

"Oh, damn." A disembodied voice commented. "Mental Out. She's a pretty one."

"Fuck me, dude. She's a babe. Her and the fourth, those are some bitches I'd totally go through a box of rubbers with," came another.

"They're not 'bitches'. Why the fuck are you disrespecting women around me? Does nothing go through your thick-ass skull?!" The first bellowed in response.

"You're a fag! I knew it! Fagbite!" The second yelled back.

"…Please stop. You're both making a scene…" A third voice complained.

The couple had identified the source of the formerly disembodied voices; a group of seemingly grown men, a surprising reality given their anything but mature interactions, were loitering at the transportation vehicle stop's benches. One seemed to have just barely given a second thought to his appearance; he wore the simplest of attire, nothing more than a dirty dark green tracksuit with black trainers. His coal colored hair was slicked back, his yellow, fang-like teeth bared furiously at his companion, a toweringly tall, long-haired, bearded fellow who looked more like a beast than a man. Despite, or perhaps because of his savage features, he dressed in a more dignified manner; though he too wore little more than a plain tracksuit, his was clean, and navy blue. On his feet, he wore beige hiking boots, which looked almost brand new. The third specimen and quietest of the group stared down intently at a smartphone. A full head of shaggy, dirty blonde hair sat on his scalp, and his attire was much more suited to the warm weather; he was clad in a gray tank top, and shorts to match. Oddly, he wore socks with his flip flops, something that wasn't seen often in Academy City.

"Fuckin'…" Touma muttered under his breath. He clenched his fists hard, and felt his nails dig into the palms of his hands. He paid no heed to the pain, accepting it, but not letting it overtake him. The young man felt his blood boil as white-hot rage formed inside of him. "Talking about my wife like she's a piece of meat dangling from a hook? Are you looking for trouble? Because you're going to find it."

In seconds, Touma's arm was wrapped in his soul mate's; she pushed her body against his, and held her head high. She smiled the brightest, happiest smile her facial muscles could possibly perform while keeping a natural appearance.

"Touma, please. Stay calm baby, deep breaths. For me? Please?" She said quietly.

Touma felt Misaki's fingers run slowly, gently over the top of his hand. He had always preferred the lulling mechanism being used when her hands were bare, but it would have to do.

"Look at this bastard, with that hot piece of pussy on his arm. Some dudes have all the luck," the grey tracksuit man grumbled with frustration evident in his voice.

"Guys like you wonder why you're alone, and I don't get it. You act like this, like women are beneath you, like they're objects to be used and discarded, and you wonder why you're in the position that you're in. Boggles my fucking mind," Touma lectured. "Shove off. I'm not looking for trouble, but I'm not going to stand here and listen to you call my wife filthy names, and talk about… that."

"He's got a point. I apologize for this dick-kicker's bullshit, you two. He's a piece of work, but he don't mean it. He's… got mommy issues." the bearded tracksuit man responded.

"Why're you puttin' words in my mouth? That's some shit. And I ain't got no fuckin' mommy issues!" the grey tracksuit man angrily retorted.

"Keep walking, baby." Misaki commanded. Touma couldn't see any better option; getting into a brawl, and finding himself in legal trouble wouldn't help anything. The young man swallowed his pride and spat.

"You need to watch your mouth. These days, you could get shot for talking like that. Academy City isn't a safe place." Touma snarled, before he turned his back to the freak show.

For the rest of their short walk, the couple encountered no troubling incidents or misfortune, the lack of the latter was truly a surprise for Touma. Though he had tried to swallow his pride, he felt it stuck in his throat, and in his mind, he violently gagged and choked on it.

"Thank you for remaining collected, Touma. I am very proud of you. It is a shame a woman cannot walk this City's streets without being harassed. I am also glad the altercation did not escalate; I would have had to use my ability in our defense, and I know how you feel about it. I believe this was the best possible outcome," Misaki stated. Though she no longer had to physically comfort her husband, she remained close to him.

"Just a shit starter, that's all. The big guy seemed decent enough; I mean, he said sorry, when he didn't really have to. Only one of them was being a jerkoff," Touma remarked.

The couple continued to banter back and forth; they eventually changed the subject, and tried their best to forget the incident. Sooner than later, however, a foreboding reality check dawned on Touma; upon arriving at Anti Skill's headquarters in school district seven, he realized exactly what it was that he had done. He had arranged a meeting with a cold, calculating, unfeeling and inhuman killing machine. Anxious at first, Touma reasoned that, while he didn't know how this scenario would to play itself out, he knew one thing for certain; he would make things right. He would do what he had always done. He would shatter illusions, and see the world through the darkness, figurative and literal, to the dawn of a new and hopeful day.

With Misaki at his side, there was nothing Touma couldn't accomplish. With Misaki, Touma was on cloud nine, and nothing would bring him down. He would never allow it.

With that reassuring thought in his head, and with his soul mate to support him, Touma took his first step through the doors of Anti Skill's headquarters.


	16. A Certain Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will bring a close to the Crossing Arc. What a wild ride it's been, huh? I can't say too much about the future of the narrative, but I can at least say the ride is about to get a LOT wilder.

The first detail Touma noticed was how sickeningly sterile the interior of the building was; white tiled floors, grey metallic walls, and very few windows to the world outside to be spoken of plagued Anti Skill's school district seven headquarters. There was a long, metallic desk pressed against the wall to the immediate north of the two; to get behind the desk, one would have to open a small door that couldn't have stood taller than three feet. Images of a Reformatory were instantly conjured in his mind. Though Academy City never bothered with using such primitive technology, in his vision, Touma saw shock therapy machines, straight jackets, and blood-soaked rooms with rusted trays that held scalpels smeared with blood, mucus, and vomit.

Touma pushed the vision from his mind's eye, his fear of what his own mind was capable of showing him took over and his higher mind demanded release. He and his beloved stood in a waiting room; flanking either side of the front entranceway were three sets of surprisingly soft-looking seats. At the end of either row, there was a potted plant; each stood tall, their leaves an emerald shade of green.

In the center of each group of seats, there was a wide table with only the latest and greatest in printed media scattered upon its surface; this meant that people in Academy City still read magazines, for some reason that neither Kamijou could understand. When Touma approached the table to his right, he noticed that someone had drawn a curly, vaguely villainous mustache, a top hat, and a monocle on the face of an unfortunate model, who smiled alluringly from the front page of issue number four hundred of "Cosmic Citizen", a fashion magazine. "i got blood in my pussy! fuck me daddy!" Exclaimed the words written inside the speech bubble that had been crudely drawn next to the model's face. Touma shook his head in disapproval. Misaki peered over her husband's shoulder, glanced at the vulgar dialogue, and then turned away as she giggled quietly to herself. Touma's thoughts turned to the past. "Kids… looks like something those morons Motoharu and Pierce would've done. To think, somewhere in Academy City, there's another Delta Force, pulling the same stupid shit the original Force did."

"WELCOME TO ANTI SKILL'S SCHOOL DISTRICT SEVEN HEADQUARTERS. YOU MAY REFER TO ME AS GREETER-10045. IS THERE SOMETHING YOU REQUIRE? LOITERING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. ANY AGGRESSION AGAINST ANTI SKILL PERSONNEL WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE ENGAGEMENT OF ORGANIC MATTER INCINERATION SUBROUTINE," exclaimed the synthetic voice of an OFFICER Network robot. Touma jumped in panic at the sudden declaration, and, though Misaki's heartbeat had sped up, she showed no physical signs of concern. The Mental Out user's thoughts turned to the future.

"Anti Skill has been almost entirely replaced by these soulless androids. Will we be next? Is that what Academy City will become? A city of constructs?"

The automaton had Anti Skill's symbol painted on the center of its metallic chest. It had placed its hands on the front desk that it stood behind, as if it were attempting to mimic basic human body language. The couple could see a white, flat screen computer monitor, with a mouse, keyboard, and compact tower to match. For the receptionist's desk of a fairly important building, it looked quite barren.

Misaki put her thoughts aside, and swiftly inhaled before she addressed the empty, robotic shell that looked expectantly towards her. "Hello. We are here to visit someone; a friend of ours. Officer Shirai said that we would need to be signed in before we could visit them." Misaki said, feigning warmness. Touma felt relieved that he had his wife with him to take control of the situation; she had always been the better talker. "I don't even want to look that thing in its eye. I'd REALLY prefer to talk to an actual human being…"

"PROVIDE THE NAME OF THE WRONGDOER YOU WISH TO INTERACT WITH," The automaton demanded in response.

"There is something of a problem; we do not know the name of this individual," Misaki replied; she could feel the unnatural smile she struggled to hold beginning to melt. Never one to panic, Misaki began to think ahead, planning her next steps.

"ENGAGING SUBROUTINE 'CONTACT OFFICER OF HIGHER AUTHORITY'. NAME ENTRY ERROR."

A few moments passed, and all was silent; Touma and Misaki looked uncomfortably at one another, then back at the automaton, which stood completely still. The automaton reached down to the corded phone on the front desk, quickly pressed a series of number keys on the device's keypad, and raised the receiver to the front of its face.

The robot broke the silence suddenly. "CONTACT WITH OFFICER SHIRAI KUROKO ESTABLISHED." Touma jumped as his mind reeled, and adrenaline surged through him.

"GREETER-10045 REQUESTING CONFIRMATION OF VISITATION ADDED TO QUE WITHOUT CONTROL TOWER'S KNOWLEDGE. VISITATION REPORTEDLY ADDED TO QUE BY OFFICER SHIRAI KUROKO. PLEASE CONFIRM."

"ENGAGING INQUIREY SUBROUTINE."

The robot turned to face Misaki and Touma. For a moment, they felt like they were two organisms that were invisible to the naked eye being examined under a microscope. The automaton's singular lens focused on the couple momentarily, until it resumed its conversation.

"CITIZENS IDENTIFIED. KAMIJOU TOUMA. LEVEL ZERO. KAMIJOU MISAKI. LEVEL FIVE. ENGAGING VISITOR SIGN-IN SUBROUTINE, FOLLOWED BY ENGAGEMENT OF ESCORT SUBROUTINE."

The robot proceeded to enter some data into the computer on the front desk, its metallic digits clacking noisily against the computer's keyboard with each keystroke. Once the robot finished its task, it stood tall and faced the couple.

"YOU WILL FOLLOW GREETER-10045. FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH ANTI SKILL PERSONNEL WILL RESULT IN FORCED REMOVAL FROM THIS ANTI SKILL FACILITY," the robot commanded. Misaki and Touma reluctantly followed, though they kept their distance from the domineering android.

Misaki noticed that Touma had leaned in close to her ear, and she moved closer to accommodate him. "Why is it so pushy? We haven't done anything wrong. We're here as visitors, not as criminals," he whispered.

"I cannot say," Misaki replied with irritation in her voice. "I am not enjoying being rudely spoken to by this construct either, though." Touma could tell that Misaki was trying her best to not sound offended. The young woman's facial expressions betrayed her, however; her brow had furrowed, and her lips had curled into a frustrated frown.

"I was expecting to be greeted by a human being. I thought Anti Skill and the OFFICER Network were part of two different jurisdictions. I guess not?" Touma rhetorically inquired.

"Tsk." Misaki made an irritated sound with her tongue. "I would go as far as to complain, but I know better. My letter, electronic or otherwise would be placed directly into one dustbin or another."

Despite their frustrations, the couple still walked, following as far behind the Anti Skill robot as they could. Touma kissed his lover on the cheek in an effort to comfort her. "I'm sorry that happened, beautiful. I wish there was more I could do," he said soothingly.

A weak smile formed on Misaki's face. "There is no need for an apology, baby; you did no wrong. I did not expect or wish for you to try and attack it. Thank you again for remaining calm."

The couple turned a corner, and saw that the automaton stood before two closed doors that, judging by the small panel above it that displayed the number "six", lead into an elevator shaft. As they neared the machine, the couple noticed that the doors were closed, and one of two buttons on a small panel next to the doors was glowing bright red.

"YOU WILL STEP INSIDE WHEN THE DOORS OPEN. YOU WILL COMMAND THE ELEVATOR CAR TO DELIVER YOU TO FLOOR TEN. ANOTHER OFFICER ON FLOOR TEN WILL BE GLAD TO ESCORT YOU TO HOLDING CELL NUMBER SEVENTEEN, WHERE THE WRONGDOER YOU HAVE REQUESTED A VISITATION WITH CURRENTLY RESIDES. HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY. THANK YOU FOR VISITING ANTI SKILL'S SCHOOL DISTRICT SEVEN HEADQUARTERS." The android moved methodically around the unnerved couple, and moments later, much to their combined relief, disappeared from sight when it rounded the corner they had just come from.

"Humph. Good riddance," Misaki huffed; she tossed her head back in defiance. Her bangs immediately proceeded to fall into her face. Misaki quickly placed them back behind her ear as she mumbled to herself.

"C'mere, you." Touma sighed as he embraced his disgruntled lover. Touma gently placed her body against his, and his hands naturally fell to her lower back; Misaki returned the embrace as she let the side of her face rest against his chest. Touma softly kissed the top of Misaki's head while he ran his fingers along her back, which, even with her blouse on, caused her body to shiver.

"Thank you, baby. You always know how to make me feel better. I apologize if I am overreacting," Misaki said softly.

"Nah, no way. It irked me too. How's it going to walk around ordering people around like that? "You will" do this and "you will" do that. If it wasn't walking around with an Anti Skill logo on its chest, I probably would've tried to punch the thing. I still don't get it… why is the Network even here?"

The elevator doors opened, and a trio of fully armored and thankfully human Anti Skill officers stepped out. Their heavy footfalls sounded more like miniature volcanic eruptions to the couple in the deafening silence of the headquarters. Enormous combat rifles were strapped to the backs of each officer; each rifle had a long, wide white barrel with a long, cylinder shaped high-powered scope attached at each barrel's rear end. The rest of each weapon was a light shade of silver. Though the couple couldn't see the officers' faces beneath their helmets, there was a sense of naturalness that radiated from their presence.

"Civilians. Everything is well, I assume?" an officer inquired, addressing the couple. The officer had moved to the front of his group, and had taken the lead over his (apparent) juniors. His deep voice was distinctively male; it sounded almost intimidating.

"Everything is well, officer. Thank you for your concern," Misaki said with a genuine smile. Some of her faith in Academy City's law enforcement had been restored by that simple gesture.

"Yeah, we're good officer, thanks; but some of your robots are, uh, kind of pushy," Touma commented.

The officer nodded in acknowledgement, before he turned his back and silently instructed his juniors to follow his lead with a hand gesture. A response to Touma's statement never came.

Touma and Misaki emerged from the elevator, on the tenth floor. Though it looked identical in coloration to the first floor, and (presumably) the rest of the floors beneath it, the atmosphere had changed yet again. Anxiety and uncertainty had rolled in like storm clouds. The two hadn't said a single word during their short trip, but no words were really needed.

They had walked down a desolate hallway, following the numbered cells. Holding cells ten through twenty were around the corner from them. Touma, holding Misaki's right hand with his left, hesitated. Once he turned that corner, he wouldn't be able to go back. Whatever happened in those upcoming moments could never be undone. A killing machine, an absolute monster waited for him, and once he turned that corner, Touma would face it head-on. Though metallic bars stood between them, that brought the Wielder of the Imagine Breaker no comfort. In a way, Touma felt similar to how he felt when he faced Accelerator for the first time; Touma could only guess how many lives this machine had destroyed, and how many people this machine had killed. Misaki noticed her husband's hesitation, and moved to comfort him. "Baby? Do you want to talk? I am listening."

Touma leaned against the wall, his thick, muscular arms were crossed over his chest. He looked down at the floor, and his grip on Misaki's hand tightened. "Misaki, no matter the outcome of this meeting, I want you to know that I love you; I love you more than anything and anyone. I don't know if I'm making the right decision, but… I want you to know that I'm trying. I wouldn't feel right if I ignored this monster's existence and turned my back on what's left of Academy City."

"I know you are, my love; and that is why I stand at your side, through every wicked inferno, and through every ravaging storm. You are my prince, my gentleman… my hero. My devotion goes beyond a proclamation of "I do". It goes beyond a ring. You do not face this monster alone," Misaki replied. She smiled thinly, and released her husband's hand. For a moment, he wanted desperately to take Misaki's hand back, hold it close, and give up; but he didn't. Touma breathed deeply, and prepared himself for the worst.

As the couple rounded the corner, a patronizing, unnatural voice began to address Touma. Its vocalizations sent chills down his spine, and it made his stomach violently churn. Even then, the determination within Touma didn't fade.

"A champion arrives. You weren't who I was expecting. I welcome you to my humble abode, regardless."

Kuroko stood before the metallic wall adjacent to Devastator's cell. She nodded in her friends' direction; with her stood five heavily armored Anti Skill officers. They, like the officers Misaki and Touma had previously encountered, were heavily armed with combat rifles that were strapped across their backs.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kamijou," she addressed. Kuroko could already feel the choking uncertainty around her. No matter, Kuroko had a duty to perform, and she would perform it to the best of her abilities.

"This is Devastator, or D-001, the individual you requested to meet with," Kuroko began. She nodded in Devastator's direction, then turned her head to the couple. "Devastator, this is Kamijou Touma, and his wife, Kamijou Misaki." Kuroko nodded in the direction of Touma and Misaki, and turned her head to Devastator. The maniacal machine raised its arm, and waved slowly at its visitors. "I'll be moderating this visit. If your meeting becomes heated, I am to de-escalate any tensions. If this fails, we, as officers of Anti Skill are bound by our oath to restrain all parties involved," Kuroko stated; she didn't enjoy talking so formally with Misaki and Touma, but she had been told time and time again in her training to separate her personal and work lives. It wasn't a lesson the teleporter was going to forsake.

Devastator had risen up to its full, imposing height. It stood rather casually in front of the bars of its holding cell; Touma had forgotten just how tall the machine actually was. Touma towered over most, and even he had to look up to peer into its cyan eyes.

"Ah! The star-crossed lovers!" Devastator exclaimed enthusiastically. "And you, sweet cheeks? You're the fabled number five? I've heard things, but I never would've thought… they really are like melons. I didn't believe it when I heard it, but here they are."

"Excuse me?!" Misaki asked angrily. "I will not be spoken to in such ways. I did not come here to be ogled, nor do I wish to be harassed by you. You will show me the respect I deserve, not only as a woman, but as a person."

"Will I?" Devastator retorted. "Go on, sweet cheeks. Get that remote out, and try to brainwash me. Click your buttons until the cows come home! I'm stronger than you, esper! If the third ranked Railgun couldn't defeat me, how do you figure that you can even so much as chip my armor?"

Touma had everything prepared inside of his head; he would introduce himself calmly, and in a collected manner. He would try to be as polite as possible, given the circumstances. "Hello, Devastator slash D-001; I'm Kamijou Touma, and I'd like to talk about some things."

Instead, something quite different came out. Touma's anxiousness, as well as his anger, which only grew as he continued to look up at and listen to the maniacal machine took control.

"I remember you, robot." Touma snarled. Outwardly, Touma appeared confident and in control. On the inside, he felt like a child shrinking from the raised palm of an abusive elder.

"Touma you idiot shut up! What're you doing you're going to ruin everything just like you always do SHUT UP!"

"You're a murderer. You take peoples' lives away from them, as if you're in any position to do so. No one has the right to take another person's life away, no matter what they've done!"

"This again?" Devastator implored. "I hope you didn't request this meeting to try and lecture me. I don't agree with your skewed definition of heroism, champion. Its people like you - you're the cause of everything wrong in the world. You can't preach to a deranged psychopath, or a violent offender. You can't fix what's broken beyond repair. All you can do is throw it away!

"Here, let me explain it like this. It's a crude analogy, but we can make do, can't we? Imagine, if you will, that Academy City is a garden; a beautiful, verdant garden. A garden is supposed to have flowers in it, right? That's what most people do in their gardens; they plant flowers. Sometimes, in your garden, weeds will grow. Nasty, dirty weeds that really just stink up the place and look ugly. The gardener can make one of two choices; they can cull the weeds, and make more room for flowers, or they can allow the weeds to consume their garden. What's a gardener without a garden of flowers? No one wants to look at a garden full of weeds.

"I am a gardener, and Academy City is my garden. With my pruners, I clip the weeds, so that flowers might have the chance to grow, whereas someone like you sits idly by and allow weeds to share the garden, until, WHOOPS! There's no more flowers to be seen! Just weeds!"

Touma seethed with anger; in the time that Devastator had taken to try and explain itself, his face had gone completely red; his eyes had become bloodshot, and veins normally unseen on his neck bulged as his blood boiled. Touma's body violently vibrated, his clenched fists shook, and he was on the verge of losing himself to his own rage. Misaki's instincts demanded that she step away, but her higher mind refused. She knew her prince would never harm her.

Touma regained the ability to form coherent sentences, and snapped. "You can't compare human beings to weeds in a garden! You just can't! You want to talk about deranged psychopaths?! I'm standing right in front of one!" Touma bellowed; Kuroko jumped at the outburst. Touma's right hand flew forward, crashing into the bars of the holding cell. They violently shook from the blow, but Imagine Breaker didn't negate anything. Devastator attempted to mimic the sound of a human's chuckle as it 'closed' its 'eyes' for a moment, before it re-opened them as a grin began to form on the remnants of its facial armor.

"You know what they say about the truth, Kamijou Touma; it hurts. It's never fun to realize that you're not living in a fantasy world where everyone can be saved. In a perfect world, maybe that would be the case, but this world is far from a perfect one. Some people, bad people, need to die, so that others, namely the innocent, might have a chance to live."

"Funny that you mention that," Touma retorted with a sudden calmness. Kuroko looked to her friend with a look of concern; the teleporter had become unsettled. Touma wasn't someone who behaved like this; the only other time Kuroko had seen Touma so angry, and then suddenly so calm was during his face-off against Aleister Crowley. "It could've been. I don't want to say a lot more about it. When something causes you to have nervous breakdowns, it's not something you want to blabber on about, but the potential for a perfect world was there. All I had to do to see it through was… yeah, no way I'm getting into that. Something like you wouldn't care, anyway."

"You'd be surprised," Devastator retorted.

Touma's eyes met the glowing orbs that sat in the maniacal machine's head. Thousands of tiny mechanical parts worked in unison on and within its singular remaining piece of facial armor. Its expression was one of sympathy.

"You might think I'm some sort of serial killer, or a supervillain who needs to be stopped; but I'm a good person. I'm just trying to do the right thing. We've got different opinions; but, let's talk about you, champion. Why don't you finish that thought? You can tell Uncle Devastator," the machine spoke.

"You think it's funny? You think this is some sort of joke?!" Touma demanded. He gripped the bars of Devastator's holding cell, and bared his teeth in a feral display of ferocity. "You think this is a joke? I've seen things that would break your mind, or whatever you have in your head! I know things that no normal human being should ever know! Do you know what suffering is? Are you even capable of feeling anything at all? Are you even really alive, or am I talking to another empty machine?!" Kuroko pulled Touma away from the bars as she loudly demanded for immediate de-escalation.

"Feel? Oh, I can feel, unfortunately enough. If your own son was ripped from your arms, and forced to forget you even existed – forced to forget everything he had done with you, every day he had spent with you, learning with you, doomed to a life in which he could never make even a singular lasting memory of his father, how would you feel, Kamijou Touma? I think anyone worth leaving alive wouldn't be pleased. If you were forced to watch from the shadows as your son existed as a demi-orphan, bound to live his life cupped in the hands of evil, I think you might become bitter. I think, oh mighty champion of the realm, that you'd want some revenge. You'd want to kill some deserving 'people', and most importantly, you'd want to find a way to get him back."

Touma stood still, his mouth unmoving. His rage didn't dissipate, nor did his disgust, but Touma simply stopped.

"Devastator…" Kuroko began.

"Uh, uh, uh! Wait your turn, Deputy!" the machine snapped at Kuroko.

It turned its attention back to Touma, and emulated the sound of a human's sigh. "I know what you're thinking… he's adopted. But that's not important."

"It doesn't make anything you do right," Touma retorted. "This isn't the way to save someone!"

"And you'd know how to do so? Please, if you have any ideas regarding a quick fix for a human being's memory pathways, I'm all ears, old buddy, old pal! I don't have ears, so I can't physically hear you in a way that your human mind would understand, but I CAN rip your spine out and wear it as a belt! At least I'll always have my sense of fashion! They'll never take that from me!" The machine roared in response, before it threw itself against the bars of its holding cell; Kuroko's heart sank, and she felt the onset of panic. Though the bars held, she knew she had to intervene. Tensions were flaring, and this scenario could spiral out of control in an instant.

"You will not harm anyone in this room, construct!" Misaki yelled, taking to Touma's side. "I will NEVER allow it. NEVER. I do not care what you are, I will stop you. I will find a way."

"Back up sweet cheeks, or things are going to get very, very bad!" The machine snapped in response.

"What did you just say to her?! DID YOU JUST THREATEN HER?!" Touma bellowed defensively; he slammed his fist against the holding cell's bars. His mind and body reeled as overwhelming pain shot through his body. His mighty blow hadn't even dented the bars. Touma looked to his right fist; his knuckles bled, and his entire hand felt as if it had just been pierced by a blade. He began to breathe deeply, trying to prevent his mind from being further overtaken by a ferocious, instinctual call to arms. Misaki, with great force, pulled her husband away; she obstructed his path by standing in front of him, before she wrapped her arms around him. The panting young man eventually returned the embrace, his arms shaking wildly as he allowed his head to sink into his lover's shoulder; the beast, as quickly as it had emerged from within Kamijou Touma, had been calmed.

"ENOUGH! STAND DOWN, ALL OF YOU!" Kuroko screamed at the top of her lungs; her uncharacteristic outburst brought a sudden, if tenuous peace.

"Sheesh, Deputy. You're quite the screamer. I wouldn't be surprised if you woke the dead," Devastator commented, having returned to its usual sarcastic demeanor.

"Devastator, away from the bars, NOW!" Kuroko viciously commanded. The machine refused to do so. It stood tall, confident and infuriated.

Minutes, which felt like hours passed as Kuroko moved Misaki and Touma away from the holding cell. Anti Skill seemed to be too underfunded to even afford proper seating in their facility, so the couple had to sit on the floor. Misaki didn't mind; she couldn't care less if her clothes became dirtied. They were washable, replaceable material possessions.

"Baby, please calm yourself. Nothing is going to happen to me; Shirai-san and the other Anti Skill personnel are right there. They will not allow anything to happen, okay? Breathe for me. I am right here, Touma. Everything will be okay, I promise. No force is strong enough to move me from your side," Misaki softly, comfortingly whispered.

"M-Misaki, I didn't mean to… Agh, I should've known better. This was a terrible idea. I a-apologize, I just… I lost it," Touma muttered in response. He rested his chin on his arms, which were crossed over his knees. "I can hear Misaka calling me an idiot from here. Fuck, I'm really stupid."

Misaki looked down into her husband's soft eyes and smiled thinly. As she ran the bare fingers of one of her hands over the half-open palm of Touma's own hand, she spoke. "You are anything but stupid, Touma. I know you did not mean to act that way. Everything is okay, my prince. I am not upset or angry with you. It would not be fair for me to feel that way; you acted in defence. You are a man who strives to protect what he cares about. We will talk in greater length later, if you want, but for now, know that everything is okay. You are okay, I am okay, everyone and everything is okay. I think it would be wise for us to remain seated, at least for a few minutes. We will go back when you feel you are ready. If you would prefer for us to take our leave, then we will."

Touma gave a weak shrug. "I feel… I don't feel good, Misaki. I don't want to give up, I won't give up, but this really doesn't feel good." Touma felt them before he became consciously aware of their presence; tears ran down his face. Touma quickly lowered his head in an attempt to hide what he felt was weakness. He quietly berated himself for being so soft, for allowing himself to fall to this again. "Grow up you child, get a fucking grip."

Misaki lovingly lowered her vulnerable lover onto her waiting lap; Touma didn't resist, he allowed himself to be supported in his moment of weakness.

"Allow yourself to cry, Touma. It is okay to cry. You are the strongest man I know; your willingness to let yourself show emotion is proof enough of that," Misaki said supportively. She let her arms sit at her sides as Touma stared up at the dull silver ceiling; rows of bright lights forced him to squint.

Devastator emulated a sigh, before it finally relented. It stepped away from the bars of its cell, sat itself down on its bed, and looked from side to side.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The mechanical monstrosity chanted; it sounded more like an obsessive mantra than a legitimate apology. "The evil thoughts got the better of me again."

Kuroko, reluctantly at first, stepped towards the holding cell. "You agreed to let us help you, Devastator. I had no idea that you had a… son. That's terrible, and I'm so sorry for your loss. It must be extremely… difficult to cope with something so tragic, but Academy City has the most advanced technology in the entire world at its disposal. I don't know really know a lot about mind control, outside of the basic principals and formulas… but maybe…"

"Academy City won't help my boy; why would they, when they're the ones who stole him?"

Kuroko raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I don't understand," she said with confusion evident in her voice.

Devastator emulated a sigh. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Deputy? Creator… Gun… Gunp…. I can't even say his name! Creator needed for me to perform a very specific role. My boy got in the way of that role, so Creator took him from me; maybe he thought he'd break me. If that's what he intended, he didn't fail, but he didn't break me in the way he intended. Creator… Creator never thought that I'd cut my strings. Now, he hides from me. He denies me my son, and he denies me my vengeance.

"Oh, Deputy, when I find Creator… we're going to have an important talk. I'll be doing most of the talking though. He'll be screaming as I dismantle his body piece by piece. Maybe I'll save what's left of him! Hey, yeah! That's a great idea. Souvenirs are always nice! These aren't evil thoughts! Wanting to kill Creator is… normal. Good. You want to help me, Deputy and friends? Where did those two go, Deputy? Did they run away? I don't blame them. I wouldn't run away from me, but a lot of people do. It's fine, I'm pretty forgiving. Help me kill Creator, this City will be a better place with his corpse rotting in a shallow grave."

"We didn't agree to help this thing, Shirai-san." Touma commented as he and Misaki turned the corner. He then turned his attention to the machine before him. "But, robot, Devastator – is that what you're called? You want to know why we wanted to visit with you? I wanted to try and understand you. I wanted to try and understand why you killed those gang members in district ten those few days ago. Now that I have some idea of what you're like, I think I can safely say that you remind me of someone I know. Well, someone I knew, once."

"Oh, you're back! You look worse for wear. Then again, look at me; I'm not in any position to talk. Are you sure you're in any shape to be telling stories? Maybe you should have a rest," Devastator retorted mockingly.

Touma smiled thinly, shaking his head in disapproval. "Do you know who the number one ranked esper in Academy City is?"

"Who doesn't? The malnourished albino Accelerator is the number one, of course! I heard he collects little girls," The machine shot back.

"Did you know that he slaughtered thousands of people?" Touma pried. "I hope this works. I really, really hope this works. This is all I've got left. If this doesn't work, I'm out of ideas, and up shit creek without a paddle."

"Those clones? Gunpe… Ugh. Creator… has, or perhaps had, copies of the recordings of some of those experiments. He made me watch them. He told me I'd "come to enjoy" delivering similar deaths to his enemies… I actually have a laundry list of appalling things Creator had me watch. Want me to read it aloud?"

"No. No one here would like to hear such things," Misaki stated.

"Oh, welcome to the conversation, number five! The more the merrier!" Devastator exclaimed.

"I'm with her. That's… I don't really have words. If the person who created you is that insane, it's no wonder you are the way you are. Do you think that's why you're the way you are? By doing what you're doing, and behaving the way you're behaving, you're probably doing exactly what he wants you to do." Touma stated flatly.

"I wouldn't go as far as to call him a person…" Devastator replied with seriousness in its synthetic voice. "I am my own person, no, being, no! I'm a person too! I'm not like him! Don't compare me to him, I'm NOTHING like him!" The machine cried out in apparent distress.

"I don't take peoples' children away! Or do I? No! I don't! The things I kill aren't people! Gangs? They aren't made up of people, Kamijou Touma! Deadlock? They're litter! They know they're Creator's puppets, they know what they're doing, what they've done, and they don't care! They're garbage that the good people, who sometimes do bad things threw away! Because they're litter! You're wrong. I've proved you completely and utterly wrong, champion. I WIN! I win, as I always win!"

"Does doing what you do really count as winning?" Touma inquired.

The psychotic grin on Devastator's facial armor began to fade; it shook its head from side to side and began to pace in its holding cell.

"It isn't, Kamijou Touma. This isn't victory; this is loss," The mechanical monstrosity stated. "I've lost everything. I've lost my mother… I mean, my… Forget it, the cat's comin' out of the bag! She's my mother, and I've lost her. I failed her, when she needed someone to succeed the most. I've lost my boy, and my boy's been robbed of his freedom, his life, his ability to even make a singular lasting memory of his own father. He's spent the last four years rotting in one facility after another, while I've been blindly following Creator's wishes without even realizing it. I freed myself, I cut the strings Creator dangled me from, but I can never escape his influence. I… I think I understand. I think I understand what I have to do, now."

Devastator swiftly approached the bars of its holding cell. It placed both of its hands against two of the bars.

"Devastator? Can you please move back towards your bed? I'm only going to ask you once." Kuroko ordered.

With the skeletal palms of its hands facing outwards, Devastator pushed with all of the force its arms could muster. Hydraulics inside of the mechanical limbs worked fervently to achieve the goals it set its 'mind' to.

"Devastator! Get back! That's enough! Officers, get in there and restra…"

Kuroko's forceful demands of immediate co-operation trailed off as, with one final, forceful motion, Devastator violently pushed not two, not four, but six of its holding cell's bars apart. Devastator leaned forward as it stepped out; one of Kuroko's fellow officers radioed for backup, while those that weren't occupied formed a protective circle around Misaki and Touma as they relentlessly fired thousands of rounds into the machine.

Devastator opened its arms, unconcerned that it was being pelted with gunfire. The final remaining piece of its facial armor was blown off, and it hit the floor with a loud 'clang'. Undeterred, Devastator spoke. "Relax, guys! I'm not going to hurt anyone, no need to be alarmed. I need some space, that's all. How about we start seeing other people, Deputy?"

"What's the meaning of this, Devastator?! I know things are taking longer than they should, and I know you were probably feeling cramped and alone in that holding cell, but you can't just, break out!" Kuroko exclaimed.

"You see though, Deputy, the problem here is: I did break out. I know you're trying your best, and I owe you something for it. What about a massage? My hands look rough, but I can give one heck of a back rub. You're one of the first people I've met who can show something other than anger or fear when shootin' the breeze with me."

Devastator approached the circle of Anti Skill officers, and peered down at its two visitors. "In an almost humorously poetic way, we're two very similar beings, Kamijou Touma… You want to see people saved, right? You want to see everything have a happy ending, and not THAT kind of happy ending – I'll leave that to your lady friend, right? If that's what you want, I'll tell you exactly how to do it; help me kill Creator. Help me kill… Help me kill… him. Help me kill Kihara Gunpei. Help me make the Kiharas an ugly footnote in this City's history. If you're in the same league as number five here, I think you're more than strong enough to help me with my evil plan. You go about things your way, and I'll go about things my way. I think that's fair."

Though dozens of Anti Skill officers who were armed to the teeth had surrounded the chaotic scene, their weapons pointed directly at Devastator, their eyes peering into their rifles' sights, Touma stared right back up at the mechanical monstrosity before him. He sighed. "I'm just a level zero. It's not about being in anyone's league either. You have a cold outlook on life – my wife and I love one another, that's it. Level difference isn't a problem, provided there's affection. As for the Kiharas? I've seen firsthand what Kiharas can do. I've talked to that intelligent dog, Kihara Noukan. I saw the fruits of Kihara Gensei's labors; he turned one of my best friends into a monstrosity, convinced that he could see an esper rise to level six. Do you know Kihara Enshuu? I met her in Baggage City, a place outside Academy City. She looks like an innocent, unassuming girl. But she's just as evil as the rest of them. I'm not surprised at all that a Kihara created you. I should've figured it out from the start. Who else but a Kihara would create something like you?"

"Is that a yes?" Devastator pried.

Misaki looked at her husband expectantly. Thousands of thoughts raced through the Mental Out user's mind at once. Panic mixed with respect and adoration for her husband, which mixed with anger towards the maniacal machine, and anger mixed perfectly with a fear of the unknown. "Touma, my prince, I am trusting you to make the right choice. Please keep our family, our home, our life in mind."

Touma shook his head from side to side. "I don't have an answer that I can give you right on the spot. If it were just me, I'd stupidly run off to go and try to be a superhero, probably shouting about illusions and guts. Maybe if I shouted about guts enough, I could even summon a friend of mine to help. It's just not a decision I can make alone."

Devastator emulated a sigh of irritation. "If that's your answer, then that's your answer. If you come to a conclusion, you'll know where to find me."

The maniacal machine turned to Kuroko, its head held high. "Deputy… since our friend here can't seem to make up his mind at the moment, it falls to us to be a couple of caped crusaders. Can you get your buddies out of the way? I need a moment; there're things to consider, plans to be adjusted, people to bribe and/or threaten, you know how it is."

Kuroko groaned in exasperation, hanging her head. A vein throbbed in the side of the teleporter's forehead. "Devastator… can you please get back in your holding cell? I'll try and throw my weight around, make things move faster, I'll try to make something happen! Can you please cooperate?"

"But, Deputy! We've got to be heroes, and heroes don't wait for things to happen…" Devastator chuckled with a sinister, calculating malice in its vocalizations. "They make things happen. So, I've gotta move around to get the old smart juices flowing. You comin'?"

"Maybe, if you let it move about for a short period of time, it will be more willing to cooperate with you, Officer Shirai?" Misaki said, trying to offer a solution to the dilemma presented before her.

"Thanks for the suggestion Kamijou-san, but… I can't just… rrrghhh." Kuroko looked desperately to her fellow officers. Can one or two of you see Mr. and Mrs. Kamijou to the front desk and have them signed out? This might take a while."

"Ma'am," an officer replied. They lowered their weapon, though they didn't disarm completely. "Civilians, can I ask that you follow us?" The officer asked; they signalled for three of their fellows who were in front of them to provide them with backup. Silently, the four fell into a single line and took the lead.

"Well, then. I guess that's all," Touma commented. Misaki slipped her fingers between her husband's. She moved as close to him as she possibly could, and though Touma wasn't going to complain about it, he could feel his intact left hand beginning to cramp from Misaki's tight grip.

"See ya next time, pardner!" Devastator exclaimed as it waved excitedly. "Come find me when you're ready to face facts, when you're ready to protect what's important… level zero."

Touma didn't rise to the bait. He didn't even bother to face the machine once he was sure he could form a reasonable, collected reply. "I know what's important, robot. Bye."

Some time had passed; though the couple had escaped the oppressively anxious atmosphere of Anti Skill's school district seven headquarters and were nearly home after an uneventful ride on public transportation, the change didn't seem to have done much for Touma. He wasn't as talkative as he usually was, nor did he have his usual sense of humor.

"Misaki?" Touma asked. The blonde Mental Out user, who had been caught up in her own thoughts amidst her husband's silence immediately came back to reality.

"Hi, baby." Misaki replied with a thin, but warm smile on her face.

"Hi, beautiful. Long time no see," he joked. Misaki was grateful that Touma seemed to finally be emerging from the concerning, forlorn mood that had come over him. "I know I'm going to have to bandage up my hand, even though the fucked up, cursed thing is just going to heal itself, but maybe after I do that, if you're up for it, if not, don't worry! Seriously, it's all good! I was hoping I could just… hold you for a while. Not feeling too well, is all."

"You do not have to ask, Touma." Misaki replied. "Of course you can hold me. If you'd like, we can talk about everything that has transpired. If not, silence suits me just fine."

Touma and Misaki had finally made it back to their apartment complex. Putting her key in the front door that led to the comforting, familiar lobby, Misaki held the door open for her husband, and then let it close shut behind her. When they entered the elevator, a pleasant surprise was waiting for them.

To anyone else, she would've been one of few foreigners in Academy City. Since most of the population was Japanese, anyone outside of that ethnicity was something of a rarity. To the Kamijous, she was a friendly, if quiet face. Her name was Jessica; a transfer student from the United States, who lived five apartments away from the Kamijous. She had once told the couple (via a note on her smartphone, translated from English to Japanese by a translation app) that she had transferred to Academy City some years ago, just before the turmoil. The young woman had often tried, and failed to have conversations with her neighbors. Sadly, her broken Japanese created something of a language barrier. The transfer student had short, straightened brown hair of a darker shade than that of Mikoto's, and dark brown eyes. She wore an orange tee shirt with a pair of dark jeans that were hemmed at the bottom.

Touma nodded and smiled in the transfer student's direction, and she smiled in response. Though their interactions were limited, they were mutually appreciated none the less.

The couple waved goodbye to their neighbor as they stepped out of the elevator. Misaki unlocked the door to their apartment, and they stepped inside; the positivity that the soul mates kept alive and well in their home swept over Touma. "I'm going to stop being a bummer, right this instant. Time to snap out of it. You're home now, Misaki's safe and sound, you're safe and sound. Let yourself loosen up, Touma."

"Baby, do you need the bathroom? I'm going to run in and get this mess cleaned up. My hand looks… oh man, it actually looks really bad. Did the neighbor see it? I hope she doesn't think we beat people up or something…" Touma rambled.

Misaki pulled her husband close and kissed his neck. Her eyes closed as her soft lips met her beloved's skin. "I am sure that she knows we are not like that, my prince. I imagine she did not even notice; you were not waving your hand about, after all. Rest calm. Clean your wound; I will be right here waiting for you when you are done," she lovingly purred.

Touma entered the bathroom and ran his battered hand beneath the stream of warm, cleansing water expelled by the sink's faucet. The young man reached for the nearby bar of soap, and placed it against the wound. Once the wound had been properly washed, he found that the wound was considerably less grievous than he thought it had been. It was less of a wound, in fact, and more of a scrape. Though the scrape stung as soapy water doused it, the real damage was internal; Touma's right hand still pulsated with pain, even almost two hours after he had slammed it against those metallic bars. "What were they even made of? Probably some insanely durable Academy City metal. Well, not durable enough to actually hold criminals, apparently. Just durable enough to almost break my fucking knuckles. Such misfortune… hold it! What did we say about that, Touma? No more using that. Blah."

Touma stepped back into the living room, the bloodied, scraped knuckles on his right hand now bandaged as a cautionary measure; the young man didn't want to wake up to see the sheets of he and his wife's bed stained with his blood.

True to her word, Misaki remained in the living room, and had sprawled herself out across their couch. She looked up to her beloved and smiled warmly. Her legs dangled over the couch's left arm, while her head sat comfortably on top of a pillow that she had placed at the edge of the couch's third cushion. Misaki's arms were placed comfortably across her chest. "I want to go to our bedroom, the bed would be a much more comfortable place for us to cuddle, but… oh my, I do not want to get up. Still…"

"C'mere, your highness," Touma jokingly muttered as he scooped his wife up; she gasped at the suddenness of her removal from the safety of the world beneath her, but she quickly enough began to blush; Touma carried her bridal style. "My prince would never let me fall. Even if an accident happened, it would not be the end of the world… though I am certain it would cause him a great amount of distress. I have such a caring, emotional husband. I love it. I love him. I love how much he cares about me, about the life that we've built together."

"This brings back so many fond memories, Touma. You carried me like this on our wedding day, as I wept out of happiness, the day that two human beings well and truly became one. I will never forget a single event that occurred on that day," Misaki said softly. Her heart was racing as she peered into Touma's soft, caring eyes. Within his caring eyes, Misaki didn't quite know how, but she saw something else, too. She saw his pain, his fear, his vulnerability, his feelings of inadequacy. She saw everything, and it only made her want to help her soul mate heal even more. Many years ago, she had vowed to become physically strong to protect her prince and herself from every and any threat that crossed their path. It was a vow that she had seen to the end, and she had the strong, toned and muscular, but distinctively feminine body to prove it. Kamijou Misaki silently vowed once again, in that moment, to do whatever she could to protect her husband not only physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.

A lump formed in Touma's throat as he carried his wife to their bedroom. "Neither will I, beautiful. By the way, we were both crying," he chuckled. "All of those tears were good tears though. It was… oh, man. Our first kiss as husband and wife, I never wanted it to end, Misaki. I think everyone else did, though… the look on Accelerator's face when we just wouldn't stop was priceless."

Misaki smiled; the blush on her face was fading, despite her own emotions rising up within her. Memories; beautiful, irreplaceable memories caressed her mind. Everything came back to the young woman, not only of her wedding day, but of the day that Touma had asked her for her hand in marriage. Misaki had always been a collected person, someone who never let her composure fall, but on that day, her composure had shattered completely. Misaki had lost all sense of what society deemed to be 'composed'; Shokuhou Misaki, as she was known then, screamed "yes, Kamijou Touma, YES!" to the High Heavens; the clouds that floated above Academy City that day had parted for Kamijou Touma and Shokuhou Misaki, and had allowed the sun's rays to bring warmth to them, as if the world itself approved of their, at the time, upcoming marriage.

Slowly and with great caution, Touma lowered Misaki down onto their bed. He removed his arms from beneath her as she smiled up at him. They locked eyes for a moment before Touma walked to the other side of the bed and climbed up next to Misaki. With the soft, warm comforter beneath the two, Touma took his wife into his arms; his embrace was sudden, as if he was fulfilling a desperate craving by pulling his beloved close to him. Her arms went around her husband's waist as he placed his face between her neck and her shoulder.

"Misaki, I don't want to let go, ever. I want to hold you, and make love to you, and tell you how much I love you and appreciate you, and kiss you… that's it. That's all I want. I wish we could have our own island out in the middle of the sea, with a never-ending supply of food… pancakes. Infinite pancakes, and infinite sweets, and black coffee. I know it sounds stupid in reality, but I don't want to be away from you. Misaki, I hate being away from you, for even a short amount of time. I think… I don't know. I hate it when we're apart. I try to deal with it because I don't want to annoy you, or be too clingy all the time, but… I don't really have anywhere else to go with this. I think I'll be quiet. I just feel really anxious when you're not with me,," Touma breathed, concluding what ended up becoming more of a confession than anything.

"Touma, I understand. It is okay. Thank you for telling me… even when I am not physically there with you, know that you are the only person on my mind, the only person I am thinking about. When we are apart, I too want nothing more than to return to you, to love and appreciate you the same way you love and appreciate me. It is only natural… but if these feelings are negatively affecting your day to day life I think that we should talk about it at greater length," Misaki replied. She ran her hands softly and slowly through her husband's hair as his grip tightened. Somehow, Touma knew exactly how to hold his wife as tightly as possible without causing her any discomfort.

"It doesn't, beautiful. I can cope with it. I always just tell myself that I'll be coming home to you, or that you'll be coming home to me soon enough. I'll always come home to you, Misaki. No threat, no enemy, no situation will keep me from coming home to you," Touma spoke between breaths.

"And I will always come home to you, my prince. This is where we belong, in the protection of our home, so full of love and so full of life, laying in each others' arms. This is how we cope after the danger, the threats, the enemies, the situations, have all passed, and that is okay. When all is said and done, we will always have our paradise," Misaki replied softly. One of her arms remained around her husband, while she used the other to run her bare fingers over the soft skin of his open palm.

For some three hours, Kamijou Misaki and Kamijou Touma laid together. After the final words of their loving exchange, neither spoke again, neither moved very often, unless the need to adjust positions was felt by either party.

Misaki had fallen asleep in her husband's embrace, despite their stressful and chaotic meeting with the abomination that called itself Devastator. Though Touma initially fought his urge to join her in slumber, his eyes eventually began to close of their own accord as he looked upon the smiling face of his everything, and felt the soft, rhythmic beating of her heart against his chest. In seconds, Kamijou Touma's waking mind knew no more as his mind and body demanded rest. Touma smiled in his sleep as well, as he dreamed of the day he had confessed his feelings to Shokuhou Misaki, as the two looked out over Academy City from the windows of one of the largest Ferris Wheels in the City's amusement park. He dreamed of the butterflies that had performed jumping jacks in his stomach, he dreamed of the first time they had kissed, he dreamed of the heat that had rushed to both of their faces, and he dreamed of his desire to protect that girl's smile.


	17. A Certain Broken City

September 21st, 2014. 3:50 AM. Present day.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu grumbled as he slid his fingers over his phone. He swiped one picture aside, and brought up another. The image displayed the remnants of the skeletal hounds Motoharu had killed, or destroyed, or perhaps simply banished some six days ago. The grisly trophies shocked his companion; she gasped, and when Motoharu turned his head, he saw that she had a hand raised to her mouth. Her name was Itsuwa; an attractive young woman of the Amakusa-Style Remix of Church, a Church that practiced the combined principals of the Christian, Buddhist, and Shinto religions.

Long, black hair fell to her upper back, and her bangs were swept to the side. Itsuwa's eyes matched the color of her hair. As well, Itsuwa had double eyelids, a feature most people didn't often notice right away; the only exception to the apparent rule had been Kamijou Touma, who had met her for the first time some ten years ago. She wore a light purple crop top, a pair of white, high waist shorts, and a pair of trainers that matched her top in their coloration. Her body was in top physical shape from years of physical combat; her arms were thick and muscular, her legs were long and toned, and her body had something of a natural hourglass shape. Her rear was quite plump, though that wasn't something she paid a lot of attention to. As well, her chest was rather well-endowed.

Itsuwa had become something of a travelling companion to Necessarius' Spymaster, though it had not always been that way. There was a time when the two hadn't known each other all that well. In a way that Motoharu found humorous, the desperate siege of the Windowless Building that lead to the Fall of the Director had brought two strangers together as friends. Perhaps Itsuwa wasn't aware that Motoharu sought something more – namely, to get between her legs at least once.

The two stayed in Motoharu's district sixteen hideout; it was more of a hovel than an actual home, but it was a temporary place of refuge for a Spymaster who didn't like to remain in one place for long periods of time. Motoharu didn't know what the place originally was before it was left to fall into disrepair, but that didn't matter to him; it was an abandoned, out of the way structure, a perfect hideout, and one of the few he had in the district. Its interior was shoddy at best; dirtied, stained and ripped dark lavender-colored carpets covered its floor, ripped, decomposing wallpaper that looked to be stained from years of internal water damage barely covered the metallic walls, and there was little furniture to speak of; two single beds that looked far too new to have belonged to the structure's original occupant, or occupants sat side by side in one corner of the one-room hovel, a rotting computer desk with a torn, barely-functional office chair, and a lamp that never seemed to work properly that sat on the top right hand corner of the desk.

"Spooky, huh? I found 'em lurking around in the underground mall in district seven… well, what was left of the underground mall, that is. Yeah, I went in alone. Archbishop refuses to send me reinforcements. I guess I have you to do my dirty work, but you can't be everywhere at once." Motoharu joked.

"W-what are they? I've never seen anything like this before!" Itsuwa exclaimed. She leaned in to get a better look; Motoharu also tried and succeeded at getting a better look, though his ogling eyes, guarded by his tinted sunglasses, were anywhere but on his phone's screen. The poor woman didn't even notice. "How…?"

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Cleavage-Sama and Barcode Boy; they were 'summoned', I guess, by these funky green runes. I threw some rubble at one of 'em, and a skeleton dog came out. Killed that one, walked further into the mall, found more that had already been 'summoned', killed them too. Runes were placed all over, in weird places, like on the ceilings. Lots of 'em, hundreds, maybe thousands," Motoharu explained.

"Necessarius' Archbishop knows?" Itsuwa pried; she rose back up to her full height, which saddened the Backstabbing Blade. He had been enjoying the show, after all. "Did these creatures produce mana?"

"Yeah, she knows. Not sure who else does, outside of Cleavage-Sama and Barcode Boy. Won't do anything about it, though. Nope. No mana, but the things were scalding hot to the touch. Archbishop tells me to "keep my eyes open" or some shit. Can't really keep my fuckin' eyes open when I don't have any! Counting you and me, there's less than a hundred of us in this dump. We're all more than capable, yeah, but I don't think she grasps just how broken Academy City actually is. I need, at the very least, hundreds to keep things under control here; hundreds of trained spies and cute Amakusa babes, maybe some of those Russian Orthodox girls, if I can be greedy. A handful of each won't cut it," Motoharu retorted. He locked his phone, and stuffed it back into his pocket. He spun around in his office chair, which squeaked and groaned in response as he faced his companion.

The Spymaster had been forced to change his beloved outfit; wearing clothes that had been singed just wasn't his thing. As a substitute for his favored clothing, he wore a tight fitting, long sleeved black tee shirt with a singular horizontal blue stripe that started at the shirt's right sleeve, and ended at the bottom left of the shirt, a pair of dark sweatpants, and his (surprisingly) unsinged high top shoes.

"How are we supposed to even know what these guys, or this guy, or whatever the fuckity fuck, is up to? We didn't see the underground mall incident coming when it was right under our noses, literally, and that nymphomaniac Kami-yan told me about similar shit at that Ultramarket place. Nowhere near as much shit was marked up, but clearly, whoever this is, they're getting stronger, and they're moving up to bigger and better things. We don't know what we're dealing with, who we're dealing, or how many of them there are. We've got wool over our eyes, Itsuwa. There's other crazy shit going on, too. GROWTH's spreading all over the unsafe districts, nobody really even knows what the shit's supposed to do, we just have guesses, but we sure know what it does, and that's bad enough. We're knee deep in greasy, smelly, corn-filled shit." Motoharu ranted.

"I don't understand any of this… why kill innocent people? What are these creatures? How come we've never seen anything like this before?" Itsuwa asked, completely and utterly complexed. "Will Touma help us? How is Touma, Tsuchimikado-san?"

"The Disease lingers on…"

"He's… well, he's done like dinner. If things get worse, I don't know if we'll be able to rely on his talents. We might have to consider a second option." Motoharu mumbled. Itsuwa frowned. It wasn't the news that she wanted to hear.

"Done like dinner"? What do you mean, Tsuchimikado-san?" Itsuwa asked as worry began to build up inside of her. She didn't have the time to regularly check up on her old friend ever since Academy City had become a devastated shadow of its former self, and her concern for him only grew with each day that passed.

"He sees some people get killed, right? Pretty nasty stuff; blood, guts, gore, all of that. He goes white as a damn ghost, starts shakin' all over, could barely form a coherent sentence. One of my buddies got him and his woman out, but when I saw that, I realized somethin', Itsuwa. Everything that bastard's been through, it finally caught up with him. He's done, fried." Motoharu spoke.

He stood up and stretched his arms behind his back as he groaned in relief. "But I've got a trick or two up my sleeve. We'll manage without Kami-yan, if that's what we've gotta do. You're the only one I'm going to say this to, and I'm telling you in confidence. Why? Because, if the Archbishop finds out, bad things are going to happen. Everyone's expendable to her, but Kami-yan's only alive because she allows it. Without Aleister, there's not a damn thing to stop her from eliminating him. She knows she'll never control that Imagine Breaker in his hand, so… she'll try the next best thing; prevent it from being used against her."

"Then we'll stop her," came Itsuwa's reply. She wore a determined expression. Her fists hung clenched at her sides, and her eyes stared into Motoharu's tinted sunglasses.

Motoharu chuckled more to himself than anyone else. He approached Itsuwa, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "We won't, Itsuwa. You think we can challenge her? She's one of the most powerful and influential people alive. We can't just throw up our banners, cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. If that's the way the world turns, then that's the way the world tur—"

Motoharu was pushed back by Itsuwa's forceful shove; he kept his footing, and never let the shit-eating grin fall from his face. "She's still so strong, hah… I don't know if I could take her by myself."

"I won't let any harm come to Touma. I'd face the Archbishop alone, if I had to. I'd face my Supreme Pontiff, and my Substitute Supreme Pontiff, if that's what it came down to, Tsuchimikado-san!" Itsuwa exclaimed. She took a step closed to Motoharu, and the atmosphere in the Spymaster's hideout became dark. Motoharu could feel the aggressive aura radiating from his companion, and it would've made anyone else shy away almost immediately. Itsuwa wasn't an inherently violent person, but something about that Kamijou Touma always made her behave like a mother bear.

"I could see Cleavage-Sama and what's-his-face being reasoned with, but the Archbishop would either shred you up herself, or have someone shred you up before you could even begin your heroic monologue," Motoharu stated. "I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes here, just statin' facts. It's the way things are."

Itsuwa shook her head in regret, then took Motoharu into an embrace that surprised the Backstabbing Blade. He felt her warm, soft assets pressed against his own chest, and he began to issue mental commands of restraint to his lower body.

"I… I'm sorry, Tsuchimikado-san; you k-know how I feel about Touma…" Itsuwa stammered. She looked up at the Spymaster of Necessarius with a blush visible on her face. Motoharu gave her a quick pat on the back before he pulled away, the control over his manhood finally broken.

"Too soon! You've pressed your glorious globs of fat against me too soon, Itsuwa! Hah. Imagine if she did feel it. Maybe she'd want it, eh? Maybe I'LL be the new carrier of Kami Disease. We'd have to change the name. Tsuchimi Disease…? Nah, it just doesn't sound the same."

"Hah?! It's okay, you blushin' little schoolgirl!" Motoharu exclaimed. He pressed his index finger to the bridge of his sunglasses and pushed them back onto his face. The Spymaster regained his composure, and cleared his throat before he continued. "Kami-yan's a married man, Itsuwa; don't be a homewrecker! Don't get me twisted, I think it'd be hilarious to see you try! Just don't make his precious baby girl leave him, or he'll probably save the Archbishop the trouble and off himself."

Itsuwa shook her head in disapproval, and crossed her arms beneath her bosom. "I don't see how that's funny at all, and of course I wouldn't do anything like that. I like Misaki a lot, and I wouldn't want to do anything that would hurt her or Touma."

"You've gotta laugh at something, or you'll be cryin' all the time," Motoharu said. His reasoning seemed skewed to Itsuwa, especially when he was making light of such dark things and essentially mocking his supposed friend's suffering, but this was just who Tsuchimikado Motoharu was. Itsuwa had mostly grown used to it, but she never got used to his mocking of Touma.

"Well, we didn't meet up to sit here and fight like a married couple, did we? Let's get a hold of someone over in the land of tea and biscuits, preferably Cleavage-Sama, because Barcode Boy is a tsundere, and find out what our next move's gonna be. It's been days, and we don't even have a single lead. We're gonna need some kind of help," Motoharu stated flatly.

"What about that GROWTH stuff? How are we going to work to fix all of these problems at once? You make it sound like the whole City is against us!" Itsuwa replied; she felt overwhelmed, and the young woman was forced to ask herself if Academy City was beyond saving. "Should we just let it all end? Is there even anything left to save…? No! That's not the way to think!"

"Not trying to dampen whatever's left of your spirits… but the whole City IS kinda against us. No need to worry, my little seductress; the Spymaster's got friends in high places. Friends, people I can barely tolerate, same difference. GROWTH really isn't even our problem; it became our problem, since Academy City seems to have turned a blind eye to it. It's part of the Other Side, so what do we do when science land has science problems? We dump 'em on the losers in charge!" Motoharu explained. He hit the top of his right hand against the palm of his left to illustrate his firm belief in his plan. "Only one problem, though; The bimbo who's trying to keep everything afloat won't get back to me. It's gotten to the point that I'm going to have to barge in there and talk to them face to face."

"Y-you know who's in charge of Academy City?!" Itsuwa half-demanded, half-exclaimed. She knew that Motoharu had connections, but she couldn't think of a single person who knew the identity of Academy City's new Director.

"For security reasons alone, I can't even begin to talk about it. It's all hush hush," Motoharu quickly retorted.

"Don't ask too many questions, babe. Last thing I need is more shit from Academy City."

Itsuwa nodded in apparent understanding, and Motoharu pulled his phone back out from his pocket. Motoharu unlocked the device, then tapped the icon of the incredibly easy to use video calling app he managed to teach those of importance how to use. Somehow, many on the Magic Side remained technologically impaired despite technology's constant encroachment. Motoharu opened a new chat with a contact named "Erotic Fallen Angel" and tapped the green 'call' button. Itsuwa tossed herself down on one of the beds and produced her own phone.

Minutes later, his request for a video call with "Erotic Fallen Angel" was answered. The screen of Motoharu's phone flashed from the baby blue "calling" screen to a still image of the ear of a human being.

"Kanzaki! Cleavage-Sama! Put your phone's camera in front of your face! This is a video call, not a voice call! C'mon, let me see that beautiful mug!" Motoharu exclaimed. He moved away from the phone's external microphone to chuckle into his sleeve.

"You're poking the bear, Tsuchimikado-san…" Itsuwa warned. She didn't look up from the side-scrolling beat 'em up game she was playing, but she had heard Motoharu testing fate. Just as Itsuwa commanded her in-game character, a large man dressed in a red jumpsuit to deliver a punch to the face of his blue jumpsuit-wearing foe, Motoharu's humorous demeanor faded.

"Relax! She's…"

Motoharu turned his gaze to his phone, and his whole body began to tremble as the beet red, terrifyingly enraged face of Kanzaki Kaori glared back at him. From what Motoharu could tell from the background of Kaori's video feed, she was in St. George's Cathedral; he could recognize the ornate walls of the place, walls that seemed less fitting for a Cathedral, and more fitting for the palace of a tyrant.

"I t-told you, I will NOT tolerate your continued use of… of that NAME!" The Saint boomed, panting as a volatile concoction of rage and embarrassment flowed through her.

"Forgiveness, Kanzaki-Sama! I beg your forgiveness! It was a joke! RELAX!" Motoharu yelled back in fear; though Kaori was thousands of miles away from him, Motoharu still feared for his own well-being. She was a force to be reckoned with. If the Saint jumped halfway across the world in a single bound to beat him to a bloody pulp as punishment for his misdeeds, it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest. Kaori was usually a calm and understanding person, but there were two common ways to send Kanzaki Kaori over the edge; one could commit a horrifying, brutal crime against another human being, or one could be a certain Spymaster who knew just how to press her buttons.

"Told you so!" Itsuwa quipped.

"Laugh it up…" Motoharu groaned in response, his head hung low.

"I-Itsuwa?! I didn't know you were there! Ah, I am… I didn't mean for you to see me like this! Tsuchimikado is… he is a fiend!" Kaori exclaimed.

"He's not all bad, he can actually be really nice, when he's not being a jerk." Itsuwa replied as she continued to focus on her game. Her character had nearly won the match, but the AI she was playing against had seemingly gained the upper hand by knocking her character to the ground with an uppercut.

"Ladies, ladies!" Motoharu exclaimed humorously as he attempted to calm the raging beast that Kanzaki Kaori had become. "Listen, we got off… heh… got off… on the wrong foot. I actually have a serious inquiry – surprising, I know. I usually just call to fuck with you, but… things are heating up, Kanzaki."

Kaori calmed herself; though her incredible restraint had been broken, she had quickly managed to pick up the pieces. She looked expectantly into her cellular phone's camera – at least half of her face did. Magicians and technology were two things that didn't go well together, for the most part.

"I'm stretched dangerously thin out here, and there's not a lot that I'll be able to do if these incidents start getting any worse. You're closer to the Archbishop, tell her that I need people, fuck I'll take anyone! I just need manpower! If she wants me to get this done, I'm going to need more manpower!" Motoharu raved.

"The Archbishop continues to insist that you have more than enough resources at your disposal. Asking her again would achieve nothing," Kaori stated flatly. "The Amakusa is required to guard Index at all times, too many of us are stationed in Academy City already. For me to offer more aid would be to endanger Index's life… though there is one who has wished to travel to Academy City for some time."

The Spymaster felt dread welling up in the pit of his stomach. He gulped, and lost control of himself. "No! Not HER! Not that sex-obsessed dragon-tailed girl! She'll fuck everything up! She'll fuck Kami-yan, then Kami-yan will fuck his own mouth with a shotgun! You know how he is! Fuckin' New Light! Why'd we even take them in?!" Motoharu ranted.

"You tell me that you want reinforcements. I offer you a fighter of great skill and intellect, and you would turn her away?" Kaori grumbled in response. She began to walk as she held her cellular phone's camera some few feet away from her face.

"Yes, I would turn her away! She'll cause more trouble than she's worth! Send me another New Light chick, any one of them, it doesn't matter, just not Lessar!" Motoharu exclaimed, exasperated.

Motoharu could see Kaori stepping out from a hallway, and into the main hall of St. George's Cathedral. Though very little could be seen due to half of Kaori's face being in the way, Motoharu could see enough of the Cathedral to still be impressed. It was as spectacular as ever, its dark silver ornate walls were lavishly decorated with stained glass windows, as well as long, colorful banners that hung between each set of two windows. Kaori continued to walk, though to where Motoharu couldn't even begin to try and guess.

"I'm sorry, Tsuchimikado. I don't know what to tell you. The Archbishop's mind has been made up on the matter, and the Amakusa fairs little better than you do," Kaori muttered.

"Then I guess we'll have to figure something out… Cleavage-Sama. Ciao!" Before he could be reprimanded, Motoharu ended the call and locked his phone as he snickered all the while.

"Again, you're poking the bear, Tsuchimikado-san! It's not wise!" Itsuwa lectured.

Motoharu flashed a grin at his companion. "She can't get me; she doesn't even know where we are. She might be a Saint, but she doesn't have x-ray vision… as far as I know, at least. Who knows the extent of what Cleavage-Sama's full might is? I'm not too worried, at least about these terrorist incidents. I imagine whoever's behind this is having a time out; you don't just blow up an entire mall and immediately jump to the next target, after all. These things take time and preparation."

"I guess…" Itsuwa sighed; frustration overwhelmed her as her character was utterly beaten by the suddenly ruthless AI opponent.

In the relative darkness of school district twenty-one, a dark and foreboding presence lurked undetected by any human in Academy City. The presence belonged to a being from another era; the invader had taken to the district's mountainous heights to commune with his cohorts. The invader was armored from head to toe in a suit of thick, protective chainmail. His chest, thighs and knees were protected by thick plates of dark metal, while his feet were protected by large boots forged of the same metal. On his head, he wore a closed-faced helmet, with two large, round sockets carved into the helmet's face for the invader to see out of. Two glowing, unblinking green orbs sat inside each socket. From either side of the top of the helmet, antler-like growths emerged, their gnarled branches looked as if they stabbed at the air itself. Wide plated pauldrons sat on either of the invader's broad shoulders, both of which were held in place by thick straps wrapped around his arms. Additional antler-like growths branched out from the pauldrons; none of the antlers resembled those of any beast known to man. On the invader's back sat a dark, metallic crossbow, though he seemed to lack any sort of ammunition that could be used with the device. The weapon looked warped, and the jagged, twisted metal it had been crafted from looked to have been hammered together by a smith who just barely cared about their duties.

Beneath the protection of a natural, cave-like rock formation, the invader rested with a fire lit. The flames danced before him, crackling quietly as they illuminated his makeshift camp. Mangled piles of wood and natural rubbish fed the ironically unnatural, sickly green flames; the invader tossed more in as the fire's fuel was consumed in mere minutes. Embers that jumped from the fire ravaged the soft, moist earth and left it barren, charred and lifeless. Academy City's native flora that found itself unlucky enough to be in the vicinity of the fire withered and died, as if the flames produced an all-consuming corruption. To the invader's right, a group of thirteen 'resting' skeletal hounds waited patiently for their master's orders.

"Huntmaster! What took you?" Demanded the echoing, raspy voice of a cloaked visage that had formed in the corrupted flames. "The lord grows displeased. The time for games nears its end, and the time for action draws close. I expected a status report days ago."

"This place is nothing like the realm of the Roman Catholics; all-seeing golems prowl about with dedication unmatched. Eluding them has thus far been child's play, but as misfortune would have it, they seem to grow wiser with each moon that passes. All of this aside, I must hunt," replied the invader. He shifted uncomfortably in his 'chair', which was little more than a lump of hardened earth. The visage's unblinking, sickly green orbs stared into the empty husk of the Huntmaster which, centuries ago, held an uncorrupted soul.

"And you shall hunt the lord's foes again soon. It is fit for a lone huntsman to stalk his quarry as he pleases, but you are no lone huntsman, you are the huntsman of a lord… the lord. You will hunt only for him, and only when he sees it fit. The rabble that inhabit Beast666's Jewel are unworthy of being the prey of the lord's Huntmaster," the visage snapped. A skeletal hound had 'awoken' from its 'slumber', and had taken to its master's side. It nudged his open palm with its snout, and the Huntmaster ran his thick, chainmail-covered digits over the hound's head as it cooed in happiness.

"Beast666's Jewel is a land of many secrets, Grand Warlock. During our travels, my pack and I have learned much. I will cite the following example: I doubt you knew that one who expresses feelings of love through acts of coldness is commonly placed into an archetype known as a… Tsun… dahk? Tsun… du'myr? Tsun… dere?... Yes, that was it! "Tsundere!" The invader struggled as he tried to wrap his lips around the words of the musical language he had heard this strange city's inhabitants speak; his desire to speak his native language didn't make his task any easier. The word came out heavily accented, and was pronounced completely incorrectly.

"Enlightening." The visage of the Grand Warlock muttered in irritation. "The lord has decreed that you are fairing well enough without direct orders; continue to trouble Beast666's Jewel as you please."

"What of the Worldeater's followers? For many suns and many moons I've felt their mana, but I've chosen not to strike, as the lord hasn't willed it. Shall I hunt them?" The Huntmaster asked, his distorted voice had become giddy with excitement, and it only grew as he spoke.

"If you must hunt them, do so discreetly. A Roman Catholic meeting their untimely demise on an infrequent basis will raise few flags; a massacre will. Hunt with caution."

Though thoroughly disappointed, the Huntmaster gave a silent nod of affirmation. Shortly afterwards, the visage in the flames dissipated. Though the fire itself remained, the Huntmaster had no need for the light it provided; the sun began to return its watchful eye to Academy City's side of the world as the moon took its leave. The Huntmaster extended his arm outwards, and with a snap of his fingers, the Huntmaster's pack rushed to his side. The hounds shoved one another and their jaws clacked together as they each tried to be the first to stand behind him. The Huntmaster turned away from his ravenous pack, and proceeded to leave the safety of his makeshift camp. The Huntmaster lowered his head, so that his eyes saw only the safety of the ground beneath his feet. The sun's rays stung the green orbs that sat in his eye sockets. On that morning, the hunt would resume.

Kamijou Touma stepped through the 'employees only' door on the far right side of the dorm turned shipping and receiving warehouse he worked in. Only those who worked there knew of the warehouse's origins; district seven was unhealthily cramped with dorms and apartment complexes. Few students ever cared enough to try and tell one dorm from another, and those who did were usually up to no good. Touma had been surprised to learn of the warehouse's origins when he first started working there; it hardly looked like a dorm. The structure looked like it had always been a warehouse.

It was hardly anything to write home about; the outer walls of the warehouse were bathed in a lazily applied coat of silver paint, and the slanted roof was missing metallic shingles, most of which could be found around the warehouse's parking lot and employee picnic tables that were scattered around the grassy 'garden' that could be found behind the warehouse. Most of the flowers had wilted and died of dehydration, and the few trees that provided shade for the tables sagged, their branches weakened and spindly-looking. The flora looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

Touma acknowledged, but thought little about the same old faded baby blue colored brick walls he walked through four days a week as he entered the employee changing room, one of two rooms in the short, thin hallway. The changing room had no windows to the outside world, and the lights flickered. Apparently, someone had neglected to change the lightbulbs. Again. The walls of the changing room were identical to those in the hallway outside, and the floor was made up of gray tiles that weren't assembled in any pattern, though Touma's mind instinctually looked for one.

Touma removed his backpack, and tossed it onto the nearby bench, along with his phone. He moved into a nearby stall, and exchanged his streetwear for his work "uniform"; it was less of a uniform, in fact, and more of an armored suit. The protective uniforms were the few pieces of advanced Academy City tech that the warehouse's management actually provided to its employees for free. The uniform was made of a soft fabric material, and was bright yellow, with reflective stripes running in an "X" across the chest and back. Though he wouldn't need it until he actually entered the warehouse proper, Touma also retrieved his hardhat.

A buzz from the bench behind Touma caught his attention; the young man retrieved the device, and unlocked it. According to the notification bar located at the top of his phone's home screen, Touma had one new message from Kamijou Misaki. He pressed his finger to the notification, and began to read.

"Hi sunshine, I hope you have a good day. I'm sorry I couldn't talk with you longer this morning, you know how deeply these researchers value their time and data. If you feel like it, we can talk this evening. I love you! Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo to the moon and back!"

"hi beautiful thanks. its all good dont worry about it. id love to, love you too! so much" Touma's reply said. He smiled as he stuffed his phone into the pants pocket of his uniform and left the changing room.

Touma had traversed through his place of employment, watching as human-controlled cranes lifted enormous metallic boxes of cargo from platform to platform, or from platforms to small motorized vehicles that moved the boxes around from place to place on the ground. On the opposite side of the warehouse proper, Touma stepped through another set of doors, which lead into another hallway. As he entered the lunchroom on the right side, Touma's smile faded.

"Morning, Kamijou!" A short, overweight man called. He sat at the lunchroom's cold, unfurnished metallic table, and looked to be middle aged. He had a semi-full head of dark hair, and light stubble on his face. He was dressed in the same type of protective uniform that Touma wore. Hunks of his hair were missing from his head; easily visible bald patches were left behind. This man's name was Hiro. Encountering Hiro wasn't a bad thing for Touma, in fact he was quite fond of the older man, but it was how Hiro presented himself that concerned Touma. In his right hand, he clutched a water bottle filled with a bubbly, bright yellow substance. His left was placed on the table's surface.

"Hisakawa-san? Everything good, man?" Touma asked; he sat himself down in the soft leather seat adjacent to the middle aged man. A worried expression had formed on Touma's face.

"Good? Ha! Never been better, buddy! Call me Hiro! We're not a couple of tea-drinkers, are we?" Hiro exclaimed loudly; Touma unwittingly cringed at the outburst. Hiro just laughed heartily as he took another swig from the water bottle. He slammed it down on the table's surface.

"I haven't seen you like this in a long time. What's wrong? Something's wrong." Touma replied.

"Wrong?! Kamijou, you've got it all wrong! This is the best thing ever! Grendel's finally gone! My baby girl and I are free of her, forever! Or at least under she runs up that card!" Hiro yelled. He chugged the rest of the substance in the water bottle, and then tossed the empty bottle towards the recycling bin behind him. The bottle missed its mark completely and landed on the floor nearby.

"Ah, fuck it. Network will come through and pick it all up. Fucking robots, eh Kamijou? Too many! I liked it when those cute little schoolgirls would go around picking all the trash up. They were always so polite and well-behaved. I hope, when my baby girl gets into middle school, she's polite like that." Hiro snickered. His voice became quieter, and he went completely silent for a while. Eventually, he sighed. "It's all fucked up, Kamijou. I… I wanted a better life for my baby girl. She's seen too much already. I'm glad the crazy cunt left, but, it still hurts, y'know? When I took that forsaken ring off my finger for the last time, a part of me died, or some shit. Listen to me! I sound like I'm writing the next great teen drama! I'm fucking hammered, Kamijou. Where am I? You are Kamijou, right?"

Touma didn't really know what to say in that moment. "I can't really suggest that he should go home – he probably can't walk straight, or at all. If I call Anti Skill, they might take him in on a charge of public intoxication. What would happen to his daughter? He doesn't look like he's in any condition to work, he could seriously hurt someone if he tried to work any of the machinery… maybe he'll sober up…? Really? In fifteen minutes? No way."

"Hiro, how drunk are you? On a scale of one to ten." Touma asked.

"At least a solid five and three quarters," Hiro replied; he leaned back in his chair and burped.

Touma sighed, and rubbed his temples with his fingers. "I'm going to explain the situation to the foreman, just stay here for a few minutes. I'll come back and sit with you for a while, until you sober up. There's no way I'm letting you go out there and operate machinery when you're shitfaced," Touma said assertively. "Do this one thing for me, okay, Hiro? Just stay put."

"You've always… you're a good kid, Kamijou. You've got a big heart, humoring an old man," Hiro mumbled. "I'll be right here when ya get back! No moving for me, sir! If the foreman throws me out, I'll just claim unemployment! Fuck you, Academy City!" The older man laughed hysterically.

Touma left the lunchroom feeling absolutely nauseous. As he entered the warehouse proper once again, Touma put on his hardhat. "With my misfortune, who knows what could fall on my head? I've heard amnesia is terrible. A concussion would be worse."

Touma moved his eyes from side to side, visually scanning the area; the warehouse's foreman wore a uniform of different coloration than the uniforms of his employees. The foreman's uniform was bright green, as opposed to yellow. "Come on. Green uniform, green uniform. Where're you at? Look for a gray mustache and too many chins."

The only uniforms Touma saw were all yellow, worn by dozens of people of different shapes and sizes, all of whom were performing various work-related tasks. Touma heard a group of his co-workers on a platform above him chuckle heartily about a topic of discussion that was unknown to him.

In desperation, Kamijou Touma took to searching high and low. He produced his phone, and checked the time.

"7:59?! Such misfortune! Gah! Stop saying that…"

After a solid ten minutes of searching and putting together clues he had obtained from his coworkers, Touma had finally found the foreman. He was a big-boned man, with what Touma could only describe as "too many chins". A thick grey mustache sat comfortably on his upper lip, and he wore a pair of less-than-fashionable glasses.

"Ah, sir! Sir! Foreman?!" Touma called out as the big-boned man turned away from him; he stared down intently at a tablet in his hands.

"Sir!" Touma exclaimed as he stepped into the foreman's field of vision.

"Bwuuaah!" The foreman shouted in surprise; he nearly dropped his tablet. The foreman swiftly looked up at the concerned-looking Kamijou Touma before him as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and ran down his chubby, tanned face.

"Good morning to you too, Kamijou! You, uh, gave me quite the scare! I dunno who or what I thought you were there for a second!" The foreman chuckled. The tension in the air began to fade as Touma gave himself the chance to awkwardly chuckle along with his employer.

"Sir, there's… there's a bit of a problem. You have a minute?" Touma inquired; there was the tension again. It floated back and hovered over Touma like a toxic miasma. The foreman gave a nod of approval, and Touma told his tale, and more importantly, voiced his concerns.

"Always had a feeling it'd come to this, Kamijou. "Grendel" always did sound like a real piece of work. She was probably one of them… what do you kids call 'em? One of those rich little princess girls, when she was growin' up, always had everythin' handed to 'er." The foreman theorized.

"Are you talking about Ojou-Samas?" Touma inquired.

"Yeah, that's it, Ojou-Samas! I always hear my kid and his friends making fun of 'em. Hiro's a good man, but we can't have someone who's intoxicated on the job. Violation of the safety code and all. I could send 'im home, but what good would that do? Man's not gonna be able to walk if he's out of it."

"If I could make a suggestion?"

The foreman raised an eyebrow, but didn't object.

Touma cleared his throat. "I could walk him home; I don't think he lives too far. Just dock my pay? It's not that big of a deal for one day, my wife's the breadwinner."

The foreman softly chuckled as he held his chin between his chubby fingers. "Always the hero, huh Kamijou?"

Touma grinned, but internally, his thoughts weren't all that positive. "A hero? Not really, no. You don't know the half of it."

"Can't do it."

Touma sighed; not in defeat, but in frustration. "It's not really my place to ask, but why not?"

The foreman looked over his shoulder, to his left, and finally to his right. The big-boned fellow gently waved Touma closer. The young man moved in, and the foreman spoke in a hushed tone. "Those robots, Kamijou. They see Hiro intoxicated? They'll try to arrest him. If they don't beat 'im senseless, they'll kill 'im, and they'll do the same to you just for being with 'im."

"I'll stay with Hiro until he sobers up. You can still just dock my pay; I'd feel bad if I were being paid for doing nothing," Touma offered.

The foreman gave Touma a rough, unintentionally forceful singular pat on the shoulder, and sent Touma on his way. Perhaps he had been too lenient, perhaps he had let his emotions get ahead of him, but the foreman didn't want his employees to think of him as a monster; he wanted them to think of him as a friend.

Tall, thick metallic doors were pulled away by dutiful mechanical arms as Kamijou Misaki stepped into the central core of a research facility in school district seven; over the past months, it had been converted into a facility dedicated to studying her ability, Mental Out. Even if there were many facilities dedicated to Mental Out scattered throughout the remnants of Academy City, the one Misaki often found herself in arguably had the best funding, which was very little compared to the funding most facilities had before the Fall of the Director. This facility in particular also obtained the most data when compared to all others that studied Misaki's ability.

The interior design of facility's central core was circular; from outside, the visible central core was spherical in shape, as well. The core was furnished in a similar way to most of Academy City's research facilities, with the exception of this facility's gray concrete floors; most floors in the City were tiled. The walls around Misaki were of a much brighter color, though to the Mental Out user, any color other than solid gray would have sufficed. The walls were as white as a blank canvas, and they were textured and polished in such a way that it made them look more luxurious and less mind-numbingly boring. From the entranceway, Misaki had to descend a long flight of steps that lead down into the center of the central core.

As Misaki descended the stairs, her footsteps echoed in the relative silence of the facility's central core. The dull, droning humming of advanced tech was the only sound that chose to accompany her. The lighting in the core was dim, but it was just enough to allow the Mental Out user to safely move about.

After some minutes, Misaki had finally reached the center of the facility's central core. She could see the glow of six wide computer monitors, three stacked on top of three, the bottom row of which was partially obscured by the upper body of an individual who had either not noticed her presence, or chose not to acknowledge it at that exact moment. Misaki could make out slouched shoulders and a full head of ruffled, messy hair, but little more. The rest of the individual's body was hidden behind a tall, luxurious-looking chair.

Misaki waited a few more seconds; her presence had still been either ignored or unnoticed. Frustrated, she produced her remote, and with the press of a button, Misaki scanned through her mysterious host's thoughts. At first, Misaki had been surprised that her ability even worked at all; she had always just assumed that the researchers dedicated to studying her ability had developed some sort of countermeasure, or at least had pre-Fall tech laying around.

"Interesting."

"How, though? This needs to be studied further."

"I don't understand. Strange, even for a Kihara."

Her mystery host was a mystery no longer; through his thoughts, Misaki heard his inner voice. "Hello, Keitz Nokleben." Misaki greeted in a neutral tone of voice. She continued to hold down the remote's button as she crossed her arms beneath her bosom.

"Kamijou-san. It's been too long."

"I agree; how have you been? Well, I hope." The Mental Out user inquired. She began to move towards her old friend.

"I sit here before you alive and well, yes? I'd say I'm on top of the world, given everything that's transpired over the years," Keitz replied, stone-faced. As he spun around, Misaki got a good look at Keitz; his dark-colored slacks were faded and looked like they desperately needed a washing. His white button-up shirt was faded, dirtied, and stained with what looked like coffee. His blonde hair was unkempt and appeared greasy, even in the dim light of the central core. Misaki looked him up and down one last time, and came to a conclusion. Keitz Nokleben looked like an absolute wreck.

Misaki offered her host a smirk. "Some things never change."

"And yourself? How does the husband fare? Your proverbial sailing is smooth?"

"Touma and I are doing very well; thank you for asking." Misaki felt a small, concerned frown form on her face. She understood its presence, and she knew all too well what feeling brought it into existence; paranoia.

"Why would you have someone insist that I come to the central core of this facility? Why wouldn't they tell me that I would be meeting with you? Did they even know? You have never asked about my prince before. You never attended our wedding. You have never even congratulated me. You are hiding something, Keitz Nokleben, and I will uncover it."

Keitz uncharacteristically smiled as he returned his attention to his monitors. Misaki noticed the tangled web of cords that ran from the collection of monitors to the back of a large, black and green tower. The tower had an enormous fan attached to its side that whirred rather loudly.

"What will the topic of our research be today, Keitz? Any new developments that I should know about? I wish to see-" Misaki's inquiry was cut off as Keitz interrupted. Misaki grew annoyed, but kept her feelings to herself.

"With greetings and salutations aside, we have a lot to talk about, Kamijou-san. Odd business, everything that's happening in Academy City. Someone, and I don't quite know who, although I have theories, has too much time, and too much money. I'll get right to the point and spare you unnecessary details – I can now confirm that someone has created a variant of Mental Out. Not only has a variant been created, it has been applied to another esper. It could be Exterior all over again." Keitz stated flatly.

Misaki's starry eyes widened at the revelation, and she felt her lips part. Keitz, on the other hand, seemed as collected as he had always been. This didn't come as a surprise to Misaki; Keitz was a man who had always been confident in his abilities. "Who, Keitz? Who is this esper? What is their name, and what do you know of their intentions?"

"Kihara Enshuu." Keitz answered unenthusiastically. He turned his attention back to his computer's monitors. Keitz brought up the City's files concerning Kihara Enshuu – or the most recently updated files the City had concerning her. Misaki turned her attention to a cluster of images that Keitz summoned to the bottom right monitor; from on high, still photographs of Kihara Enshuu had been taken. They showed the young woman in different places, doing different things. Some pictures depicted her skulking around the ruined streets of school district ten, while others showed her moving about in what appeared to be a safe district, given the fairly large crowds of people. "Thankfully, she, according to the extensive data the OFFICER Network has collected, seems to be one of few Kiharas who isn't completely unhinged. The damage she would cause with the variant would be minimal."

Misaki recalled her first meeting with Kihara Enshuu, during all of the insanity she and Touma had encountered in Baggage City. She had been a difficult person to read – her inner thoughts were base and primal in nature, nothing like the cold, calculating minds of most Kiharas. It was as if she wasn't truly aware of her own actions. To Misaki, Kihara Enshuu was someone who could potentially be reached and reasoned with. Giving an ability like Mental Out, or a variant of that ability to someone like Kihara Enshuu made little sense, however. If Kihara Enshuu was well and truly a naïve young woman who lacked any sort of higher thought, an ability like Mental Out could be unintentionally used to devastating effect.

"Do you have a course of action planned, Keitz?" Misaki pried.

"No, not yet… I believed that you'd want to know all about it. Nobody's making any moves until you give the word, Kamijou-san."

Misaki had never stopped using her Mental Out ability. Up until Keitz's last statement, his thoughts all checked out. His thoughts came and went at a faster rate than those of a calm, collected human being, but they all checked out. At first, Kamijou Misaki had thought herself foolish, until she 'heard' one thought in particular. It was then that she knew her paranoia was justified; she knew that Keitz Nokleben was no longer a friend.

"She's cunning… Kamijou Misaki is a genius, but she's not omniscient… It's a matter of working her, gaining that childhood trust back… every person, even a master manipulator can be manipulated. It has to be done. Academy City has to be saved."

Misaki felt her frustration grow. A dark aura radiated from her form as the young woman pushed her emotions away. She wouldn't smile at Keitz and pretend that everything was okay, but she wouldn't react in a volatile manner, either. Misaki continued to press the same button on her remote, and pried open the mind of Keitz Nokleben further. She 'touched' nothing, but prevented him from moving as she grasped at his thoughts and flipped through the figurative pages of his schemes.

"You simply wanted to let me know? How sweet… well, it would be, if you didn't have an ulterior motive. Even without my ability, I know that you are an open book. I do not appreciate being lied to. I trusted you when I was an idiot child… I will not make that mistake again." Misaki growled coldly.

"Your assistance is necessary, Kamijou-san. Her ability won't work on you, and the OFFICER Network is… they're a bit too efficient." Keitz confessed; the only part of his body that could function was his head; from the chin downwards, Misaki's Mental Out reigned supreme.

"There is no definite answer that I can provide. To give you a yes or no answer would be terribly selfish of me." Misaki answered, completely confident. "I have a question, and you will answer it. There are many electromasters in Academy City, most of whom are protected from mind-controlling abilities by their electro-barriers. Why not seek out an electromaster?"

Misaki didn't wait for a verbal answer. She browsed through Keitz's thoughts. His mind panicked, his thoughts 'travelled' faster and he tried to bury them, but Misaki was no amateur. She 'heard' a few interesting thoughts in particular as Mental Out examined each.

"Misaka Mikoto is a liability, and is irrelevant to the Parameter List."

"Kamijou Misaki's usefulness continues to dwindle; soon, she'll irrelevant… regretful."

"It feels wrong, but this is how the world progresses. I'll see that humanity evolves, not the Kiharas. I will handle our evolution with the care and responsibility it deserves. They'll destroy everything."

In that moment, Kamijou Misaki was tempted to erase the memories of Keitz Nokleben; she could wipe his mind completely clean, and restore him to the trustworthy individual he had once been; Misaki could prevent herself from falling back into a state of paranoia. Misaki could prevent herself from relapsing into her old ways, in which she abused her powers for her own selfish gain.

"I could. I could very well turn Keitz Nokleben's mind into that of a slobbering, unspeaking child, if I so wished… but that would be an action that the young, resentful Shokuhou Misaki would have performed. I will not lower myself to return to that point in my life. I am no longer Shokuhou Misaki."

Instead, Kamijou Misaki chose to walk a different road. With a click of her remote, Misaki ordered Keitz's hands to return to his keyboard, and Misaki turned her back to her former friend. After she made the long and physically taxing trek up the stairs and back to the entrance of the facility's central core, Misaki knew what she would have to do. She knew she had to put her life, and the life of her beloved first. If Keitz had been consumed by Academy City's Darkness, Misaki had no idea just how deep in he was.

Misaki swapped her remote with another that had been waiting in her purse, and pressed a series of buttons on the device. The Mental Out user decided to search for a very important piece of information. She manipulated Keitz Nokleben, ripping the necessary answers from his mind by controlling the flow of various fluids inside of his brain. "Category 011." Misaki said in a firm tone of voice.

"Do the security cameras in this facility function? Yes, or no?" Misaki coldly demanded.

"Yes." Keitz's voice was forced, monotone, and, to Misaki, unnervingly emotionless, even more so than usual.

Misaki felt the beginnings of panic, but fought against the useless, primordial fight or flight response. "Where is the security footage stored? Is it in this facility? Does anyone monitor the security feed?" Misaki demanded.

"In this facility. No. It's rarely checked. No reason to. No security breaches. No break-ins."

In that moment, the lips of Kamijou Misaki should have curled into a victorious grin. Instead, her frown only deepened. She switched back to her original remote. Her finger hesitantly hung over the device's nearest button. Misaki sighed, and pressed her finger down.

"Destroy the footage."Keitz's emotionless response made her heart ache. "Yes."

Misaki erased not only Keitz Nokleben's, but the entire facility's staff's memories of her arrival, her presence, and her eventual exit, once she had confirmed that the incriminating footage had been destroyed.

As Misaki took her leave from the facility, she felt an overwhelming sense of regret. She found no joy in taking the actions she had been forced to take against a group of innocent people, and especially against someone who she had once trusted.

For a while, Kamijou Misaki walked aimlessly throughout school district seven. It would be a few hours before her husband's shift came to an end, and the young woman didn't want to sit at home alone waiting for him. Misaki passed by many different types of people; Tokiwadai students, both male and female, the male uniforms of which she had never grown used to seeing, marching legions of important-looking businessperson types who either stared down at, or talked into their smartphones, groups of loud and irate high schoolers, and the occasional young couple.

Misaki smiled as she watched one young couple in particular. They fooled around with one another for a few seconds, then the girl leapt upon her boyfriend's back, forcing him to piggyback her around as she wrapped her legs around his chest and her arms around his neck. Misaki couldn't help but think back to her first few dates with Touma.

As the couple she had momentarily observed walked through the welcoming front door of a certain family restaurant, Misaki allowed her legs to move of their own accord as she began to think.

"I am no longer Shokuhou Misaki, but in a manner of speaking, I still am. To this City, I am still Shokuhou Misaki, expendable level five esper. I do not want to be Shokuhou Misaki, the level five esper; I want to be Kamijou Misaki. All I wish for in this world is to be able to love and care for my husband and my friends. All I want is to leave the past, and this doomed place behind."

Misaki felt her frown deepened as she found herself walking down a brown, cobbled street. Apartment complexes, towers of silver metal and fiberglass loomed over her, and school district seven's native flora, namely large, vigilant oaks tried their best to liven the place up. As she turned a corner, she felt someone, or something, creep up behind her.

"Remember what you were taught; never give them a chance. Strike with quick and merciless precision, let your fists do the talking. No openings, do not relent until they are on the ground."

Kamijou Misaki spun around on her heel, her long, blonde hair tossed about wildly from her body's momentum. She curled her hand into a fist, and her arm arced out into a mighty right hook that struck the air where a pink and blue blur had stood moments before.

"Are you trying to kill Misaka?! Watch it! You could've taken Misaka's head off with that! Save your rough play for the Savior!" Misaki's would-be target was Misaka Worst. Her chestnut brown hair looked to have just been shampooed, as it was neatly combed and feathery. Her long bangs hung just above her amber eyes. Worst wore a baggy white and bright orange striped tank top and a pair of blue short shorts, along with white flip flops to match.

Misaki sighed in exasperation; she let her arms fall to her side as she hung her head. "I am so sorry, Worst! I… something came over me. I did not know it was you; I promise you that if I did, I never would have tried to harm you!"

"Don't get all teary-eyed on Misaka. If you hit Misaka, Misaka would just hit you back, harder." Worst flashed a devilish grin at Misaki. "If you're going to be in the neighborhood for a while, maybe you could help Misaka with something."

"What is she planning? Nothing good, of that I can be sure. Still, maybe, "playing" with Worst will occupy my mind. It is not good to dwell on these things, and Touma will not be home for some time…"

"I am going to regret this. What did you have in mind, Worst? Also, I believe you are supposed to be with Accelerator and Last Order, are you not?" Misaki pried. "Knowing her, it will be something devilish. If her plot is too disturbed, I might at least be able to dissuade her from her course."

Worst's malicious grin only stretched as she chuckled and wrung her hands together. "Misaka snuck out. Tou-san and the Control Tower are asleep. Misaka is going to prank tou-san and the Control Tower pretty hard; Misaka is going to need rope and duct tape. Misaka would just get them herself, but tou-san never gives Misaka money. Tou-san gives all of his money to his loli, instead, even though Misaka is clearly superior in every way to the Control Tower."

Misaki raised an eyebrow quizzically. Already, she didn't like where this was going. "I do not think that I like the sounds of your 'prank'. If you are thinking the same thing that I am thinking, you are planning to do something… bad."

"When would Misaka ever do something bad? Misaka is offended." Worst huffed and pouted as she crossed her arms. "Tell you what? Misaka is great in the sack. You help Misaka, and Misaka will teach you some new techniques to try out on the Savior. Misaka thinks that's a fair deal."

"You and Accelerator don't…" Misaki's eyes widened as visions that made her feel extremely uncomfortable rushed through her mind's eye at blinding speeds.

"Misaka and tou-san do. As much as tou-san would like to, tou-san can't relieve himself with the Control Tower, so he uses Misaka instead. Misaka loves it though. Misaka loooves to be smacked around and choked by tou-san…"

"Worst, ahem!" Misaki interrupted.

"Is Misaka making you uncomfortable? Misaka apologies; Misaka thought you had better taste, but you turned out to be a plebeian," Worst chastised.

"I am going to get you home, Worst. I will not just leave you out here; anything could happen to you. Come, maybe you could show me where you live?" Misaki offered in a soft, caring tone of voice.

For a few moments, Worst just stared awkwardly at Misaki. The Mental Out user felt like she was being examined or sized up. The Misaka Mikoto clone's amber eyes looked into Misaki's starry eyes as she seemed to look momentarily confused.

Worst suddenly snapped out of whatever trance she had fallen into, and her lips curled back into a devious grin. "Misaka will come with you, so long as you promise to help Misaka prank tou-san and the Control Tower," Worst said, naming her price. Misaki sighed in defeat, and she offered Worst her hand.

"Ha! What the fuck is this? You want Misaka to hold hands with you? Misaka doesn't roll that way!" Worst laughed.

"How does Accelerator deal with her?! I have been here for less than a half hour, and Worst is an absolute handful! Keeping up with her would be impossible!"


	18. A Certain Hope

Misaka Worst and Kamijou Misaki walked side by side. The former still refused to hold hands with the latter. Misaki had tried to convince herself that she didn't need to do so; she stayed on high alert, instead. The Mental Out user could think of a few good reasons as to why some hypothetical parties might want to harm Worst, but she couldn't see them striking in the middle of the afternoon, in a public place.

"Then again… no one foresaw the terrorist incident in the underground mall; we are not safe in this City. Worst is not safe, nor am I."

"Where exactly does your family live, Worst? Are we heading in the right direction?" Misaki asked; she'd rather think about anything other than the possibility of a sudden, excruciatingly painful demise.

"Misaka, tou-san and the Control Tower live in a dumpy apartment. Tou-san can afford better, but everything in Academy City is dumpy; the people, the places, the animals… Misaka saw a stray dog get hit by a car, once! Misaka thought it was funny! The dog's guts went… 'sploosh'!" Worst placed her hands together, and then quickly moved them far apart as she vocalized the sound effect that concluded her anecdote.

Misaki should've been used to the antics of the clone that the Misaka Network used as a dumping ground for its negative emotions, but she wasn't. Misaki still cringed slightly at the description. "Ah… that is… um… terrible. It is a shame; people need to pay more attention when they are behind the wheel of a vehicle. Even a distracted cyclist can harm someone."

"Misaka saw two of them ride right into each other, when she was out with tou-san and the Control Tower yesterday! Too bad they were wearing helmets," Worst responded, as if this sort of conversation was perfectly normal.

"Worst, surely we can talk about something else while we walk?" Misaki practically begged.

Worst paused, and rubbed her chin between her index finger and thumb as her amber eyes looked up. She pondered, searching through her mind for something more suitable to the likings of her unexpected conversational partner.

"First things first, turn down this street; if we go straight, we'll get lost. Misaka doesn't know her way around all that well," Worst commanded as she took the lead. As the duo looked both ways and then made a right turn down an unmaintained, cracked walkway, Misaki felt anxiousness beginning to creep up on her, and the urge to get back in front of Worst moved to the front of her mind.

"Worst, might we walk together? There is safety in numbers," Misaki reasoned, hoping that she wouldn't be mocked.

Worst chuckled and shook her head, which caused her chestnut brown bangs to wag from side to side. "Silly Kamijou – Misaka knows well enough that if someone wanted her dead, it would've been done by now."

"Wha…?"

"Tou-san behaves the same way; he tries to hide it from Misaka by acting like a tsundere, but Misaka knows that tou-san fears for her and the Control Tower. Misaka can see the fear in your weird eyes. Misaka sees it in tou-san's, too. Tou-san likes to pretend that he's never afraid, but Misaka hears tou-san's weeping, some nights. Misaka enjoys it though, so she doesn't mind. It gets bad for Misaka when the Control Tower hears it, and then Misaka goes all… woozy."

Misaki was speechless, for more than one reason. Firstly, Worst's suddenly serious demeanor confused her, to say the least. Secondly, to the Mental Out user, and to most other people for that matter, the idea of Accelerator allowing himself to cry, even in private, was absurd.

"It is easy to forget that Accelerator, in spite of his vast power, is still a human, with thoughts, feelings and emotions… what troubles him, not counting everything that is so blatantly obvious?"

Worst gave Misaki's arm a tug, and pulled her from the path of two young men, both of whom had their heads down, their eyes staring at the screens of their smartphones; their fingers tapped on their devices' virtual keyboards at blinding speeds.

"Misaka saved you from having someone's face stuffed into your tits. You can thank Misaka later, unless that's what you're into. Misaka doesn't judge," the clone taunted, as a devious grin crept onto her face.

"I would much rather not have that happen to me, thank you, Worst." Misaki grumbled as a vein throbbed in her forehead.

"Do you let the Savior put his face between them? Oh, oh! Does the Savior eat 'em up? Misaka bets that the Savior likes to suck o-"

"Worst!" Misaki interrupted, waving her hands wildly in exasperation, "That is personal business!"

Worst laughed loudly, attracting attention from those who were passing by the duo, and Misaki rubbed her temples once again with her index fingers as the beginnings of a headache began to wrack her head. Misaki felt that her walk with the devilish clone of Misaka Mikoto couldn't go any slower.

After a few minutes, Worst broke the silence that had descended on the duo. "So? Tell Misaka about the Savior. What do you and the Savior get up to, when you're not fucking like jackrabbits? Misaka can see you curled up in the Savior's arms as you watch a romantic film. Next, Misaka sees this: everything is going well, until you feel the Savior's shlong press up against your body! Then it becomes awkward."

"That is… very personal business, Worst…" Misaki grumbled with irritation evident in her voice. "Ugh, I love Worst, as I love all of the Sisters, but… Worst is, well, the worst, by far. I suppose that makes enough sense."

"Maybe Misaka will join the Savior's harem, then she can kill two birds with one stone! Misaka will take her womb away from tou-san, denying him of it for his personal use, and spite you!" Worst declared, laughing hysterically. Misaki was anything but entertained. Despite herself, a barely visible scowl had formed on the Mental Out user's face.

"Worst, let us set the record straight. I know that you are just trying to egg me on, but I must stand my ground; my husband does not have a 'harem'."

"Jealousy! Misaka loves it! The Savior always has girls crawling all over him! Onee-Sama still wants his dick!" Worst cackled, tossing her head back as she did so.

Misaki simply shook her head in exasperation; she wouldn't allow herself to rise to the bait. She knew that it'd be foolish to continue to take Worst's words with anything more than a grain of salt. After more minutes of awkward silence, again it was Worst who broke it. She pointed to an apartment complex just down the street from them. "This is Misaka's home! It looks like shit, Misaka knows, but not much worse than anywhere else."

Misaki gazed up at the complex; it looked like it might've been a rather high-end and probably luxurious complex at an earlier point in Academy City's history, but in the present, it was little more than a disheveled ruin. Most of the complex's metallic surfaces were rusted, though Misaki could see sparse areas of the surfaces that had managed to maintain some of their former color. Like most high rises and dorms in Academy City, the few surfaces of the complex that escaped the ravages of time, weather and a lack of maintenance were bright gray in coloration, almost white. Some of the windows in the complex, including the glass doors of some balconies, had been smashed.

Worst approached the building's front entranceway, whose doors had their glass panels smashed in, and stepped through; Misaki saw Worst's back just barely miss a large, sharp-looking piece of jagged glass. "Well? Misaka doesn't have all day. Come on in!"

"Is there no way to open the door in a less dangerous fashion?" Misaki inquired, with a look of concern on her face. "There is no way that I am going through that mess of glass."

Worst grumbled, and pushed the door open from the other side. "Where's your sense of adventure? The way Misaka sees it, if you don't take chances, you're not living!"

Misaki sighed quietly, and to herself. She and her husband had spent their whole lives taking chances, and both had the scars, mental and physical, to prove it. "Academy City took chances, and it is not living. I would not call this state of being 'living'… of course, that is not what she meant."

Misaki stepped through the door; shards of broken glass cracked beneath her trainers, and small fragments of a metal previously unknown to the Mental Out user crunched. The door, which was still being held open by an impatient Worst slammed suddenly shut behind Misaki as Worst removed her hand; the sudden clanging of the metallic door crashing against its frame made Misaki jump.

"Elevator works, surprisingly. Misaka doesn't know how, or why, but maybe it's because she's zapped it once or twice before," Worst commentated as she pressed her index finger against a lone button next to the singular pair of doors that would lead into an elevator car.

The doors opened almost immediately with a whine and a series of grinding sounds. Apparently, the elevator had been waiting for the two. Misaki and Worst entered; the latter moved to a ruined panel of numbered keys that was attached to the inner wall of the elevator car, and punched the 'five' key. Misaki noticed that vulgar graffiti had been written in small, surprisingly neat letters in the bottom center of the panel. "ACADEMY CITYS A FUCKING JOKE", the vandal's message boldly proclaimed. Misaki couldn't agree more.

Their ride to the fifth floor of the timeworn complex had been a silent one, though Worst had jumped in the air on more than one occasion. She had slammed down onto the floor of the elevator car with the full force that her eternally sixteen-year-old body could muster, which had caused the entire car to shift and groan in complaint. Misaki had gasped at first, but Worst's antics quickly became more irritating than fear-inducing.

A minute or so had passed, and the elevator doors opened up to, for Misaki at least, a sight for sore eyes; the well-lit hallway had a mostly clean, viridian-colored carpet, accented by clean, albeit chipped and naturally worn down walls. The ceiling above Worst and Misaki had row after row of mostly functioning lighting systems, who beamed their warming, synthetic rays down on the two. The first doors immediately visible to the Mental Out user reminded her of those in her and Touma's own apartment complex. They looked to be quite durable, given that they were made from an unknown metal painted to match the carpeted floors. Two locks sat on the left side of each door, though unlike those in Misaki and Touma's apartment complex, these locks were electronic, and required a key card.

"Misaka thinks you should go; she can see two possible outcomes. Misaka can see herself successfully sneaking back in, tou-san being none the wiser, but Misaki can also see herself getting busted. As much as Misaka enjoys seeing tou-san's temper flair, he might scare you," Worst suggested, much to Misaki's surprise.

Kamijou Misaki began to debate with herself. Her brow furrowed as she waded into the reflective pool of her higher mind's conscience. "Worst is right, of course; Accelerator is a terrible sight to see when he is enraged. On the other hand, if I were to talk to Accelerator, I could see to it that Worst does not 'escape' again… it is not safe for anyone to be alone, let alone someone like her to be alone. I suppose I found myself alone before I encountered Worst… oh, I am so irresponsible. I should have just returned to the safety of our home, my feelings be damned. This City does not care for feelings."

Misaki softly cleared her throat. "Worst, I would like to come in, if you would have me, and speak with Accelerator about some things." Worst raised an eyebrow quizzically, and then responded by shrugging in what could only be described as indifference, yet, in stark contrast, a malevolent grin had formed on her face. "It's your funeral. Don't say Misaka didn't warn you." Worst guided Misaki to the other side of the fifth floor, opposite the elevator doors, and used her ability to hack the electronic locks on the door to her apartment. The electricity that jumped from Worst's body made a soft crackling noise that, in the relative silence of the fifth floor's halls, sounded far louder than it actually was. Worst pressed her body against the door, and slowly, methodically began to push it open.

Misaki felt a single bead of sweat drip down her forehead as the door opened a crack, not quite enough for her to see anything of the apartment beyond the door. Worst had stopped, and, with purpose, opened it further and further until the door was just open enough to allow Worst to squeeze through. Misaki had to open it just a bit farther to accommodate her considerable bosom.

The Mental Out user noticed two things as soon as she had entered Accelerator's apartment; it was spotless. As she followed Worst from the apartment's front entrance, she got a better look; they appeared to be in Accelerator's living room. The hardwood floor beneath the duo shined under the sun's rays that beamed into the apartment, as well as the apartment's own light fixtures.

Worst had tossed her flip flops aside, and so Misaki chose to remove her own shoes, as well; once her sock-clad feet touched the cold hardwood, she felt that, if she moved too swiftly, she could potentially slip, which suggested that the floors, too, had recently been given a fair cleaning.

A couch, big enough for three people to sit on was pressed against a wall that separated the living room from the tiny, but equally clean kitchen. Above the couch, set perfectly in the center of the wall, was a circular, black and white clock, which ticked away, offering any potential viewers the time of day. Misaki examined it, and learned that it was 3:28 in the afternoon.

"Some say time flies when you're having fun. Was I having fun? I guess I was; Worst could get on the nerves of a Saint, but she is decent company, all things considered… when she is not causing trouble, which I suppose she always is. If only Worst's idea of a 'prank' could be more wholesome."

Adjacent to the wall, there was a thirty or thirty-two-inch flat screen television screen that sat atop a black, wooden stand. The stand's second and only other shelf had row upon row of neatly stacked DVDs, as well as a small game console tucked away in the shelf's other corner. Across from the couch and television, there were two balcony doors, both of which had their glass intact. A set of light brown blinds that would block the sun from entering through the glass doors of the balcony if they were closed were wide open; their color matched the apartment's floor.

Misaki didn't know how she missed the most obvious thing, or in this case, person in the room; an apparently sleeping Accelerator was sprawled out across the couch, with a slumbering Last Order face-down on his chest. Accelerator wore the same outfit he had worn when Misaki had encountered him last; the same day that the underground mall, and far too many innocent people were utterly destroyed. Last Order was clad in a baggy white tee shirt, and a pair of red and white shorts. Her hair appeared to have been ruffled, either by the hands of her adoptive guardian or possibly from her own body movements.

"We appear to have caught tou-san in his natural environment. Cuddling with his loli, the wild tou-san is unaware of Misaka and her minion's presence," Worst quietly narrated. "You still want to talk to tou-san, Kamijou?" The clone of Misaka Mikoto inquired. Misaki gave a semi-reluctant nod, and Worst seemed to thoroughly enjoy her companion's uneasiness.

"TOU-SAN!" Worst exclaimed loudly, shocking both Accelerator and her technically elder sister back into consciousness.

"Worst… you fucking spoiled brat… what the fuck…?" Accelerator pried in a half-awake state of delirium. Last Order shook her head about and groaned. "MISAKA MISAKA was sleeping peacefully, says MISAKA, trying to bring out some semblance of regret in the inferior unit!" The little clone complained.

"Who the fuck did you invite over? Estelle? Is that…?" Accelerator rubbed his eyes with his closed fists and produced a lengthy yawn. He made an annoyed sound with his tongue as he gently pushed Last Order off of his chest with a grumble.

"Oh. It's that fucking hero's wife," Accelerator commented. "Whatever. Hi. I'd rather put up with you than the annoying third ranked. Always coming here to bother the other brat… tch." Accelerator pointed down at Last Order as he concluded his statement.

"Misaka is going to her room, so she can pleasure herself to the thought of being used by tou-san," Worst taunted with an impish grin on her face as she took off; she swiftly walked down the hallway to the left of Misaki, and entered the second door on the right, closing it with a crash behind her.

"You going with the brat, or what? Just going to stare at me like a deer in headlights, fifth ranked?" Accelerator asked sarcastically. He flicked a button on his choker, and rose up from the couch. Accelerator tossed his head to one side to force his bangs away from his eyes. Misaki noticed, for the first time, that the choker Accelerator was wearing was considerably different than the one he had worn in the past – it appeared thicker, and had triangular patterns of glowing red lights zigzagging across its black surface.

"Actually, Accelerator, I was hoping we could speak about something." Misaki stated. Her heart had jumped into her throat, and she felt dread form deep inside of her. "How will he react when I inform him of Worst's 'escape'? Anger? Sorrow? Self-depreciation?"

"Last Order, go bother the other brat." Accelerator commanded. The smaller clone of Misaka Mikoto gave a respectful nod and darted down the hallway, presumably to annoy her younger sister. Once Accelerator heard the door to Worst's room open, and then close again, followed by the annoyed complaints of Worst, he turned his head to Kamijou Misaki with an expectant look.

"Accelerator…" Misaki began.

"Spit it out, fifth ranked."

"I was walking home from a… meeting, and I encountered Worst, out on her own. Is she allowed to do that?"

Accelerator didn't respond for a few moments. His glowing, almost sickening crimson eyes were obstructed by a single flutter of his eyelids. Then, they looked to the floor.

"Tch. No, she's not. Neither of these fucking brats leave my sight," Accelerator responded. "Academy City's a shithole, and everything's a free-for-all. Worst knows that, and she's a goddamn idiot for not listening to me!" Accelerator boomed. He sighed, finishing his vocalization with something of a snarl. "What the fuck was she even doing out there?"

"She was attempting to persuade me to assist her in "pranking" you and Last Order; her scheme was a nefarious one. She mentioned passingly that I was to assist her once we arrived, however, she seems to have either forgotten, or has decided to work alone," Misaki explained. She wasn't any less concerned; this could very well just be the calm before the storm.

Accelerator shook his head, and motioned for Misaki to follow him into the kitchen. He grabbed a can of black coffee from the small, wooden kitchen table and pried the lid open. He pressed the can to his lips, and drank heartily, before he sat down and flicked his choker off.

"Thanks… fifth ranked, for telling me. I take it you're a fucking hero now, too? Too many of you. That spiky-haired idiot's rubbed off on you, maybe even more than you realize. I swear, if that goddamn seventh ranked comes here next…"

"It is no trouble; I knew I had to. If you did not know, Worst could potentially 'break free' a second time, and I would truly hate to see any harm come to her, or any of the Sisters." Misaki replied. Something else now weighed on her mind, however. If Accelerator was willing to continue their conversation, she would pursue it.

"Based on her behavior, I can conclude that she lives in what appears to be a perpetually teenaged body, with a perpetually teenaged mind? I suppose, if that is the case, she will always be testing her boundaries. Why do they not age, Accelerator? The clones?"

Accelerator hesitated once again before he replied. "What the fuck does it matter, fifth ranked? I don't know the specifics. Yomikawa thinks they were given something, not therapy, but some sort of fucked up drugs, somehow? She compared it to that brat of a teacher we had in high school. What was her name? The little pink brat."

"Ah, Komoe-sensei." Misaki responded, fitting the piece into Accelerator's figurative puzzle.

"Yeah, whatever. That was then, and this is now; and now, I'm going to have to fuck Worst's day up. She's not going to get off the hook. No fucking way," Accelerator retorted. A foreboding and almost predatory aura radiated from the albino, and Misaki shuddered beneath his gaze, even if it wasn't directed at her.

"Maybe, we could-"

"Fifth ranked, I'm warning you right now; things are going to go nuts. Worst never co-operates, and I don't put up with her shit. Go home to the hero, and tell him we need to have a fucking drink one of these days. Just him and me… I guess you can come along, if you really want to. Just don't bring the goddamn third ranked, or that fucking beetle, or the forth, or the sixth, or the seventh… especially not the seventh. Fuck, don't bring anyone."

Misaki sighed. Accelerator wasn't the kind of person to be reasoned with when it came to his adopted 'children'. "I know well enough from my own experiences, and from what Misaka-san has told me, not to get between this family's business. Accelerator's love for Worst and Last Order is tough, but unconditional. He may raise his voice, but no harm will come to them."

Misaki opened her arms. "Hug?" She asked, as her lips curled into a thin smile.

"Forget it, fifth ranked. Go hug the hero. I have enough brats crawling all over me. The other one hasn't been around for a while, but I know she'll be back to fucking bother me."

Misaki took no offense; Accelerator was different. He always had been, and he very likely always would be. She walked to the apartment's door, slipped her shoes back on, and took her leave. She offered Accelerator a final wave, which resulted in him clicking his tongue in annoyance.

Misaki called for the elevator, and after a few minutes of arm-crossing and foot-tapping, it came to her aid. The doors creaked open, and Misaki stepped in. She commanded the rickety contraption to deliver her to the first floor of the apartment complex, and as the doors began to close behind her, she heard the beginnings of Accelerator's rant through the apparently paper-thin walls.

"Worst, what the fuck were you THINKING?! Are you actually fucking RETARDED?!"

"Yell at Misaka louder! Pin Misaka up against the wall and fuck her brains out!"

The elevator's doors closed, and Misaki was left to her own thoughts about the future. Not even necessarily just the future of her and her husband, but the collective futures of those she called friends. How long would the decaying carcass of Academy City continue to exist, before it wasted away into complete nothingness? Once it did, would the desperate, abandoned espers be able to integrate into the world beyond their City's oppressive walls, full of people who hated them? How would they find jobs, or places to live? Maybe they wouldn't.

Touma, sat across from his drunken co-worker, and listened to his continued ramblings. He was all ears, and though he was losing money from his already small paycheck, Touma didn't care; he would help this person the way he had failed to help so many others. He would find a way to shatter Hiro's illusions. Kamijou Touma would save Hiro from himself.

"Why… why do you think she left me, Kamijou? I've been rambling on for so long, I forget where I even started… does it really matter? Do you think it's me? Am I the problem?!" Hiro exclaimed, with a tone of desperation in his voice that made Touma's heart ache.

"No way, Hiro. It wasn't you. I think she made a huge mistake. You're a really nice guy, and I've always thought that you deserve better. From all the stories you've ever told us, it sounds to me like you were manipulated," Touma responded. "I wish I could just tell him how I feel about his bitch of an… ex-wife, I guess, now? He's really vulnerable. Don't want to hurt him more than he already is. Keep it to yourself."

Hiro chuckled. Though his face was wet with the tears he had shed, he found himself chuckling. "I'm going insane. I'm going completely insane. God, if you're out there, help me." He shook his head, and ran his fingers across his dark, bloodshot eyes to clear the salty liquid agony from them. "I guess you could say that, Kamijou. I think… I think she saw a lonely man who would cling to anyone. Did you know that my baby girl was unplanned? I wore protection, Kamijou, and yet somehow, through some magical FUCKING means, she announces that she's pregnant a few months later?! But you know what? I don't regret it. I love my baby girl, my Kazumi. If one positive thing came out of my broke marriage, it was my baby girl… I love her."

Despite every reason he had to not feel such things, Touma found himself in a state of envy, a state which his higher mind screamed at. Touma, in that moment, felt an immense amount of self-hatred well up inside of him. "Look at this man. He's completely crushed, and you're going to try and project your own stupid shortcomings onto him to make yourself feel better? You're disgusting, Kamijou Touma. Go ahead, convince Misaki to bear you a child in a place like Academy City, and pass this cursed hand onto them. Then, you can force your ideals onto them, the same way you do to everyone else! Perfect plan! You're dirt. You're less than dirt. You're nothing. You're… ugh, just shut the fuck up, would you? Be glad for everything you have, and don't always be so negative! This, right here, isn't about you!"

Touma started as he came back to reality. Hiro had placed his head against his arms, which were crossed over the table. He was utterly silent, though Touma could still see the rhythmic movements of Hiro's chest.

"Hiro, man, we should talk some more, maybe about something else, get your mind off all this bullshit," Touma suggested. Hiro couldn't see it, but Touma had rested his chin against his clenched fist. Touma wanted to escape his own thoughts as much as he wanted to help Hiro; a conversation about anything other than Hiro's woes would be perfect for both of them.

"Y-yeah… okay, I guess. I know I've said it a hundred times already, but, K-Kamijou, thanks… for sticking with me. I love you like a brother, Kamijou. Nobody else in this place really cares about me, or my problems. They just liked to hear my stories; they weren't l-laughing with me, they were l-laughing at me…" Hiro suddenly stopped speaking, and gripped his skull, his fingers curling as his nails bit into his scalp. "Agh, my head! Splitting… headache… ugh."

Touma looked on at the pitiful specimen before him. Said pitiful specimen cleared the mucus from his throat, and sniffed, pulling even more mucus further into his nostrils. "C-couple of days ago, I saw this old computer… just the tower, on an internet auction site. Seeing what the last owners of old tech d-did with it, t-there's something mysterious about it, y'know? I'm… kind of nosey like that. You're probably thinking that it's stupid… I wouldn't disagree," Hiro laughed uncomfortably, and sniffed again. "K-Kazumi loves to poke around with it, too… one time, she helped me replace a busted fan in an old tower I bought… when Grendel was on vacation, or cuckolding me, or whatever it was that she d-did when she went a-away… I liked it when she… went away, though. Baby girl and I got to spend happier times together."

"Did you ever find anything particularly interesting? Any secret stashes hidden away in some system folder?" Touma asked, putting on a feigned grin.

"Rarely… most people who don't think about making a clean install of their OS seem to be smart enough to delete their contraband. Or they don't have any… no, Kamijou, I haven't seen any porno folders in a long time," Hiro remarked with little enthusiasm to be spoken of.

"You found some before?" Touma encouraged himself to try and become curious; at the very least, it would help distract him from his own thoughts and concerns.

"Last one was… a couple of months back? Eight or nine? B-bought an old laptop, had a cracked display, but if you focused hard enough, you could make things out. I guess I thought it would be funny to type things like 'pussy' and 'cock' into the file explorer… for whatever stupid reason. I found more than I bargained for, Kamijou… Whoever it was that owned the thing last, they had a thing for BDSM; all kinds of stuff… kinda nasty, not gonna bring it up," Hiro sheepishly replied. He looked ashamed; his vision was focused on his fidgeting hands, which were positioned neatly on the table.

A surprisingly peaceful silence descended on the lunchroom as the conversation faded into obscurity. Touma produced his phone and checked for any potential notifications. Though he had numerous e-mails and replies to posts he had made on social media, the young man didn't see anything worthy of his time or attention. A text from the one person who could make Touma feel better hadn't come.

"I could always just text her myself. I mean, I could be bothering her if she's still working with her researchers… fuck it. If she can't answer it right away, it's fine."

Touma's fingers darted around his phone's virtual keypad as he constructed his short, but sweet message.

"Hi beautiful

Sent 01 secs ago"

He locked the device, and stuffed it back into his pocket. Until he could tell that Hiro had sobered up, Touma wouldn't leave his co-worker's side. "You, uh… you feeling any better, drunkenness-wise?" he pried.

"Getting there, I can feel it, Kamijou. If you spotted me, I might be able to do something, as long as I stay away from the equipment. I think I could lift boxes, do repairs… probably. Let me just see here…" Hiro placed his palms against the metallic table's cold surface, and forcibly pushed himself to his feet; his vision swam momentarily, and a wave of blackness accompanied by red, yellow and orange specks passed him by. All things considered, Hiro could stand comfortably without wobbling, which Touma considered to certainly be a step in the right direction.

"You're looking better, but let's wait it out for a little while longer, huh? Don't want anyone getting hurt," Touma suggested. "I don't believe him; I think he feels bad for me, and wants to let me get on with my day? Getting that sort of vibe… can't tell. He could be telling the truth? Dunno…"

Hiro shook his head from side to side. "We'll pay the foreman a visit, K-Kamijou. Don't know why I really even bothered to come in like this, but I want to try and pull my weight. Being a burden just isn't my thing… I guess, I thought, by coming in, I could put everything behind me? If t-that's what I was trying to do, then let's do it. Foreman's a good man, he doesn't deserve a slacker." Without so much as another word, Hiro began to walk towards the door of the lunchroom. His steps were sure and steady enough, but Touma still didn't feel comfortable.

"Hiro, man, come on! Let's just wait! Another hour and a bit and our shift is over, anyways! Just chill!" Touma exclaimed, following closely behind his co-worker. "Let's just stay here!" Hiro seemed to ignore Touma's pleas, and marched on undaunted, apparently expecting Touma to follow. "Hiro! Come on! Ugh… such misfortune!"

Kamijou Misaki sat quietly in the second row of seats directly behind the driver's seat on one of Academy City's public transportation vehicles. Her earbuds sat comfortably inside of her ears as soft, relaxing instrumental music washed over her. Misaki looked down at her smartphone's display; she had received a two-word text message from her prince that helped her cope with the fact that everything around her was beginning to fall apart at an even faster rate than usual.

"It is truly something else, how a simple message, a singular salutation can bring a smile to my face. Only you, Kamijou Touma. Only you could provide me with true comfort, even when you are not physically with me. You can bring me back from the edge with two simple words."

The young woman had been looking down at the received message for some time, contemplating how exactly she would respond, and what she would tell him. Indecision plagued Kamijou Misaki as her fingers hovered over her phone's virtual keypad. "There is very little I can say, short of lying… no, no lies. Never. I do not want to worry my prince, but… I feel he must know. I do not wish to spring everything on him at once…"

Misaki breathed in and out, and proceeded to tell it like it was. Despite the simplicity of her actions, she felt like she was spilling her heart out as she tapped the device's tempered glass screen.

"Hello, handsome. How is your shift going? I hope you're having a good day. When you get home, might we speak? Things have happened to me today that I know I need to talk to someone about, and I want that someone to be you. I promise I'm okay, so don't worry. I don't want to talk to anyone else about these sorts of matters. I love you so much, Touma. If you can't respond right away, don't worry yourself at all. I understand completely."

As Misaki sent her message with a touch of the 'send' button next to her messaging app's text entry box, she felt her jaw begin to tighten. She quickly tried to shake the feeling off, but its grip didn't relent. Instead, it only seemed to push back. She locked her phone, and placed it in her lap.

Kamijou Misaki turned her attention to the world beyond the dirty, smeared window of the public transportation vehicle. A sea of silver metal and glass, such generically oppressive colors seemed to be closing in around her. It was a bleak landscape to observe, but looking at it seemed more appealing than staring at the back of the light blue leather seat in front of her.

From the transportation vehicle's location, even as it continued to move from destination to destination, Misaki could see the toppled remnants of the Windowless Building. The base, which made up less than half of the structure looked like it wouldn't remain standing much longer. Misaki could see its inner frame, twisted and mangled from the upper half's collapse. The Windowless Building's upper half itself still, five years later, laid crumpled and broken.

Misaki thought back to the words Touma had uttered almost a week prior. "It's like everything I did, every victory I ever had, every step I took just helped to advance that bastard's schemes. Even killing him somehow just made everything play out in his favour."

Subconsciously, Misaki's mind kicked into overdrive; she noticed the all too familiar Ken's Ultramarket, which, much to her relief still stood intact. It wasn't necessarily the Ultramarket itself that she used to mentally acknowledge her stop – Misaki had been taking public transportation around Academy City long before the Ultramarket opened, but, rather, it was the area itself. The young woman retrieved her phone from her lap, placed it into her the pocket of her leggings, rose up, and walked to the front of the vehicle. The vehicle's driver smiled warmly at her, and gave a nod. Misaki smiled back, gave a small wave, and stepped off the vehicle.

The short, anxious walk back to she and her husband's apartment was uneventful; Misaki didn't see anyone she knew on the way, and though she encountered some of the complex's other residents going about their respective businesses, they weren't anyone Misaki spoke to regularly. She had stood in the elevator with a friendly-looking older couple, who left once the elevator stopped on the third floor. On her own floor, Misaki stepped out as the elevator's doors closed behind her shortly afterwards. She approached and turned her key in both locks of her apartment's door, and stepped in.

Anxiousness' looming presence was cast aside as a warm, embracing sense of safety encompassed Kamijou Misaki. She closed the apartment's door behind her, snapped both locks into place, kicked her shoes off, and stood still. She welcomed the aura of she and her husband's beloved, sacred sanctuary into herself, closed her eyes, and allowed herself a moment to breathe. Seconds, or minutes, Misaki didn't care in the moment, passed, before her aching lower body demanded that she rest. Misaki laid down on the soft, welcoming couch, and flicked the television on. She didn't care what channel or show would be displayed, Misaki just knew she needed some sort of noise in the background. As Misaki looked up at the ceiling, she let her mind wander.

"I will feel for the Keitz Nokleben who once was, but I will not shed a tear for the traitor he has become. If, even in its shattered state, Academy City continues to strive to manipulate and toy with forces it cannot possibly grasp, such as humanity's evolution… there truly is no hope."

After some time had passed, Misaki shook herself free of her musings, and took to performing some basic duties around she and her husband's home. It would provide a fair distraction; she threw their bed together, kept her vision clear of the closed door of their apartment's second bedroom as to avoid the thoughts of what could've been, but likely never again would be, cleaned their tub, and washed the few dishes that were placed next to the kitchen sink. Misaki concluded her ritual by running the high-powered and thankfully quiet vacuum over the carpeted floors.

The young woman carefully and neatly finished fitting the vacuum back into the corner of the closet of she and her husband's bedroom, from which she retrieved it. As she took her leave, she offered that forsaken door that lead into the apartment's second bedroom a short glance, Misaki couldn't help but think back to the times in which Index lived with them. She approached it, and, though she knew better, Misaki removed her gloves, and ran her hands softly over the cold, metallic doorknob, her body shivering as she did so.

"Index… why did you have to be ripped from our arms? Why did it have to happen? Why did the Magic Side want to harm you, and use you? To lose you, Index… was to lose part of our family. The gaping void left behind by your forced removal will never be filled."

For a while, Misaki stood there at that door, contemplating everything that had led her and Touma up to that point. Her bare fingers were wrapped around the handle, which had become warm from the heat produced by her body.

She was shocked back to the present by the sounds of a key turning in the first, and then the second lock of the apartment's front door. Misaki pulled away from the handle, and rushed into the living room.

"Misaki? Beautiful? I'm home," Touma announced, as he tossed his backpack away; it landed on the couch, and the various items inside produced a series of oddly satisfying clangs and knocks.

"Touma, my prince… I am so glad that you are finally home. I have missed you." Misaki greeted as she felt her lips curl into a warm, adoring smile. She swiftly approached her husband, her eyes and mind set solely on him, and took him into her arms. She buried her face in his chest, and held him close.

"I'm sorry, baby! I got your text, but I never had the chance to respond! Things got really, REALLY crazy today… it doesn't matter, though; I can tell you about it whenever. Right now, I want to listen to you," Touma said with an expression that betrayed the worry he struggled to hold back.

Misaki reluctantly released Touma from her embrace, and gave him the time he needed to get himself settled in. Once Touma gave her the ok, Misaki took his hand in hers. Her fingers locked with those of her husband, and she lead him to their bedroom, their paradise, knowing that the negativity of the day's events would have no power over her there. In their paradise, Misaki could free herself.

Once inside, Misaki let herself safely fall onto the soft, reassuring fabric of their bed's comforter. She slowly sat upright, as not to cause herself to become dizzy, and allowed her legs to dangle over the edge of the foot of the bed. Touma climbed up behind her, and placed his hands on the soft, silky smooth skin of Misaki's shoulders, beneath her pink blouse. Misaki's sense of calmness only deepened as she felt her husband's strong, steady hands began to gently, but firmly massage her. She allowed her starry eyes to close, as Touma moved locks of her blonde hair away from her neck. Touma's lips connected with his wife's skin as he began to softly kiss her. Misaki's body and mind surrendered to the serenity of their paradise's aura, her shoulders slumped, and pleasured chills ran down her spine as her facial expression relaxed. Misaki released a sigh.

"Do you want to tell me what happened, Misaki? If you still want to, I'll listen. You always listen to me talk when I have something on my mind, and it helps. I want to try and repay the favor," Touma spoke softly.

"My prince, my sunshine… where do I even begin? The Darkness of Academy City has revealed itself yet again in a strange way. It has consumed someone who was once close to me. Even if we were little more than business partners, to know he is now lost, there is something painful about it." Misaki began. "Do you recall the name "Keitz Nokleben", Touma? You met him a long time ago, when Misaka-san was… transformed."

Touma remained silent for a few moments; Misaki turned her head to the side and noticed that he looked to have a contemplative expression. "Yeah… short blonde hair, looked like he needed to get some sun. Am I thinking about the right person?" Touma inquired.

"That is correct." Misaki explained everything; from her initial surprise that came as a result of his unannounced presence, to his apparent involvement with the Kiharas, to her knowing of the dark and corrupted state of his being, and finally to the last actions that she had been forced to take against a facility full of people whose only crime had been their collective decision to come into work that morning.

"I think you made the right decision, Misaki, for everyone involved. What other choice was there to make? You can't really reason with people like that; they're panicking, and they'll do something stupid if you try and push them, even if you have everyone's best interest in mind," Touma replied; he had listened to each and every word his wife had spoken, absorbed each syllable, and his response came from the bottom of his heart.

"If the Kiharas are active, even to this day, and have seemingly reproduced my ability… Touma, this could mean so many different things. I did not believe that Devastator machine, at first, about how it was created by one of them, but now… now I do not know what to think. Keitz's deepest thoughts could not lie to me, even if he wished for them to do so. What are these people capable of?" Misaki replied. As her lips ceased to form any further words, the Mental Out user fiddled nervously with her hands.

Then, she felt her husband's arms surround her, and Misaki was pulled into Touma's embrace. Touma lowered his face to the crown of his soul mate's head, and kissed it. "You're shaking, Misaki… beautiful, it's okay. I've got you. Let yourself relax. I'm going… we're going to find a way to make this right, somehow. We'll find a way to make this right, you and me."

"Touma… I hate this City, so much, yet I owe it a debt I can never repay, because it brought you to me." Misaki stated. "I wish we could escape, I so badly wish we could escape this place, but I know that no such possibility exists. We are all rats, scurrying in this maze, as our amused overlords watch on. Was there a point to even giving Academy City a new Director? What have they done for us, the people? Nothing."

"I feel your frustrations, beautiful, but… this is so frustrating! I just want to make you happy, and give you the best life that I can; I know that that life is far away from Academy City, and we're… we're just stuck here!" Touma ranted; he cut himself off before he could make the situation any worse. Instead, he channeled his anger into a more positive action. He laid himself, and subsequently Misaki, who remained clutched tightly in his arms down on the bed, propping his head against one of pillows. He placed the other beneath Misaki's head, which was close to his breast.

"Touma, you and I, the Hamazuras, Accelerator and his family, Misaka-san, and anyone else who would come with us, we should try and escape. We could pool our money together and find sympathizers to smuggle us out of this place… We…" Misaki rolled over to face her husband. "It is little more than a fantasy, I know. A place like this destroys fantasies and kills dreams, but I refuse to part with mine, my prince."

Misaki wrapped her arms around Touma's neck, and pushed herself closer. Misaki smiled thinly as her beloved's index finger found its way to her cheek. Touma smiled back down at his soul mate. "Only illusions are shattered, Misaki. We don't have illusions; we have realities that we can make happen. We can do just about anything together. That's just the way we are."

Misaki snuggled even closer, and pulled herself up, so that her face was on the same level as her beloved's; Touma's finger fell from Misaki's cheek. He smiled, until his vision went cross-eyed. Misaki giggled softly at the sight before her. Touma readjusted his vision, and pecked his wife on the lips. "Misaki, I'm going to protect the world that we've built for ourselves. I'm going to protect our life together, and I'm going to protect the possibility…"

Touma's mind snapped back to the inner self-berating fit he had subjected himself to earlier in the day. The young man became oddly quiet, and felt a lump form in his throat. "Well, I'm telling her now. Not just going to pretend that is was nothing. Not gonna be scummy."

"I'm going to protect the possibility that, someday, I might find a way to get rid of this curse in my hand. I'm going to protect the possibility that, maybe, someday, if we find a way out of this place, we could have a normal life together, a truly normal life, like normal people... maybe, we could have a… a child."

And, with that, Touma fell completely silent. Misaki's embrace only tightened. She both heard and felt her husband's breathing quicken, falling in line with the pace of his heart. Misaki moved in, and kissed from his neck, all the way up to his lips, which quivered.

"Just another fantasy, I guess, right? This thing in my hand's not coming out. If it hasn't come out yet, it's not coming out anytime soon. I've yelled at it, cursed at it, screamed at it… I know, because of what happened with M-Misaka-san, that there's something in there. I don't know if it can hear me, but if it can, it's not on our side."

"I… there are so many things to consider, Touma… relationships change when children are born… in this place, there is no hope. Shiage and Rikou manage, somehow; they are both resilient, and their son must have their combined willpower in spades to be such a happy, outgoing child…" Misaki, having finished her response, continued to look into Touma's moist eyes.

"It's just something I think about from time to time, that's all. No point in thinking about it too deeply right now. It'd be a huge decision that we'd have to come to together, it'd take years to figure out what we'd do, and how we'd do it… I don't really even know if that's what I want, because… I just let it out, because I don't want to hide things from you."

Misaki nodded slowly. "I know, Touma. I know how you feel. It would be a tremendous responsibility, and in the state we find ourselves in, in this moment, few things seem to favor us. With the very foundations of Academy City seemingly crumbling around us, bringing another life into this unstable situation would be…"

"Unfair." Touma finished. Misaki gripped Touma's left hand in her own. Touma raised his wife's hand to his lips, and kissed the top of it.

Touma continued to stand tall against a certain familiar rockslide of emotions, despite the boulders and debris that pelted and cut him. "Beautiful, one of us should get in touch with Tsuchimikado, I guess, and tell him about what you've discovered. I guess we could call Anti Skill, but is there anything they'll actually be able to do?" The young man spoke. He went to rise up from his position, but Misaki gently pulled him back down.

"Touma, please do not leave me alone. I do not want to get up; I still want to feel your presence against my body. It is selfish, I know, but when everything goes wrong, you make me feel like I will survive. Stay with me, my sunshine, my everything."

"O-of course!" Touma exclaimed; feelings of regret for even thinking about leaving his distraught lover alone stabbed at him. "I didn't think, I guess. I'm sorry Misaki, I won't go anywhere. I'm right here. Not moving."

"There is no need to be sorry, everything. I know I can allow myself to be vulnerable when I am with you, and you make me feel better, when I fall to these low points. You always have."

"And I always will, Misaki! Nothing will keep me from loving and protecting you! I won't let go, I'll lay here with you, holding you and helping you heal, for the next week if I have to!" Touma exclaimed; his left hand went to the back of his wife's head, and his right to her back. Misaki's arms remained around her soul mate's neck. With their bodies pressed so closely together, they could feel one another's very souls connecting; Kamijou Misaki and Kamijou Touma, the married couple whose bond was outside the cycle of life and death, allowed themselves to be consumed by the rockslide.

Liquid emotion fled from their bodies through their eyes as their lips connected, parted, and connected again, even as their bodies were wracked by sobs that ventilated their mutual distress at the cruel world outside of their paradise. As Touma allowed his own mind and body to become vulnerable before his beloved, Misaki leaned in close to him, and through her own ventilations, she whispered, "Kamijou Touma… you own the heart that beats in my chest… together, we will survive this storm. 'til death do us part… the love of my life, my husband, my best friend…"

Touma rested his chin against the crown of Misaki's head, and he felt the hands of his beloved begin to ruffle his hair. "You own mine, Kamijou Misaki. We'll see ourselves through whatever comes our way. 'til death do us part, my beautiful, flawless wife. My loyal, dependable, powerful best friend… the love of my life."

The married couple allowed themselves to cast off their mortal woes, first through continued tears and caressing and, as they reverted to seeking a more animalistic comfort, through adoring, wordless, passionate lovemaking.

Some hours later, once he and his wife's ritual of cleansing had come to a close, Touma felt a familiar, twisting sensation in his gut. Misaki, who laid next to him in their bed, whose comforter and sheets had been torn asunder, heard it just as Touma did; his stomach had produced a guttural howl. He hungered. The couple looked at one another and smiled thinly. Misaki softly giggled as she ran her bare fingers over the palm of her prince's left hand.


	19. A Certain Discovery

Even from the ruined, cracked, mostly abandoned strip of road on which they stood, Motoharu and Itsuwa could see it; the OFFICER Network's firefighters had, according to news outlets, been brawling with the inferno nonstop since the later afternoon hours. So far, the Spymaster of Necessarius and the battle-hardened Amakusan warrior hadn't seen any improvements. Motoharu, for one, found himself intrigued.

"Hah… it's that green fire again. Must be the first time you've seen it? What do you think?" The Spymaster prodded, figuratively and literally, as he poked Itsuwa's hip with his elbow.

"It… shtinks? Bad?" Itsuwa responded, index finger and thumb pressing her nostrils closed. "Like shomeone burnt a bunch of food!"

Motoharu would be lying to himself if he said that he disliked his companion's humor, even if it was unintentional. There was something about Itsuwa that was so adorable to Motoharu, though his higher mind would shrug these affectionate thoughts off as irrational impossibilities. Someone like Tsuchimikado Motoharu wasn't in the position to love anyone, even if a part of him wanted to love Itsuwa.

The blaze, which only seemed to grow as minutes passed by, dyed the darkened streets of school district twenty-one a shade of sickly green. "From here, it looks like the main fire itself began, or was started, or whatever, up in the mountains; it looks like it's the largest up there. It looks like it tried to spread, but didn't get far… lucky for us," Motoharu commentated as he and his companion walked only slightly hesitantly towards it.

"What do you think we'll find up there? Should we be prepared for more of those monsters? They looked like they glowed a similar color," Itsuwa inquired. Her Friulian Spear, which was latched comfortably to her back, could be swiftly produced at a moment's notice.

Motoharu gave a shrug, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "Can't say. Maybe the runes that spawn those skeleton dogs are created as a by-product of this weird green fire? All we have right now is speculation."

School district twenty-one didn't have a lot of roads, sidewalks or pathways to speak of – it was a mostly mountainous region, filled with all sorts of wildlife native to the region in which Academy City had been constructed, most of which seemed to have fled from their former homes in the mountains. Rats, which were common in all of Academy City's districts scurried about in a panic. Motoharu and Itsuwa saw more birds in the sky than usual. The winged creatures chirped loudly to one another as they circled above, flying about with no real destination or purpose.

After some time, the two arrived at Ground Geo, in New Mountain; they were at the halfway point of their journey, having covered some distance already. Itsuwa didn't know it, but many horrible things had occurred there. On the outside, Ground Geo was an unassuming geothermal power station. On the inside, Ground Geo was a house of horrors; two lives had nearly ended there, while, some years later, another "life" began in its shattered halls.

Ground Geo was, based on its size at least, a physically impressive structure, even if time and decay that came with a lack of any proper upkeep had taken their toll. It was a mostly rectangular structure, with long, snaking cracked pipes that ran from one side of the power station to the other. One enormous, heavily damaged series of pipes twisted from one entrance point to the other on Ground Geo's roof; they were splattered with rust, and looked as if they'd fall apart if they were so much as poked.

Motoharu leaned up against the thick, rusted chain-link fence, that prevented trespassers from entering the power station's grounds, which bent inwards from his weight. The Spymaster put his trust in the rickety mess of metal, and allowed it to act a hammock of sorts.

"We really should've brought water…" Itsuwa complained. She licked her dry, cracked lips, smacked them together, and swallowed the saliva that had built up in her mouth. Motoharu imagined her swallowing something else entirely, but he wouldn't allow himself to dwell on those thoughts.

"Strap on your big girl gloves, Itsuwa. We still have one fuck of a hike ahead of us," Motoharu stated, pointing towards a larger series of charred mountainous peaks behind them; at their highest points, the flames raged on. There, at Ground Geo, they were closer to the raging, green inferno, and they found that they were sweating profusely.

"Maybe it's just me, Tsuchimikado-san, but maybe we should… turn back? It's so hot… I feel like my skin's melting!" Itsuwa complained. She moved her drenched bangs out of her eyes, and wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Something's wrong. Itsuwa's never been one to turn away from a challenge, no matter the risks; she and Kamijou's woman faced down a Saint, for fuck's sakes. What's with this fire? What's with this weird-ass magic?"

"Break time's over; getting our rears into gear will distract you from the heat. It's hot as fuck out here, for sure, but we can't let it distract us. I've got people waiting for us up there, and I don't want to have them bitching at me. One of my guys up there can give us all the water we could ever need," Motoharu suggested. He approached his companion, and offered her his hand. "Come on. Let's blow this experimental popsicle stand." Despite herself, Itsuwa giggled softly, and took Motoharu's hand. He pulled Itsuwa to her feet, turned his back, and motioned for her to follow.

Motoharu and Itsuwa's trip through the mountains was an uneasy and unsteady one; the heat caught up to Motoharu, just as it had his companion, and he, too found his body producing excessive amounts of sweat. On more than one occasion, Motoharu had been struck with vertigo, which resulted in multiple near-death experiences, all of which would've involved tumbling down one or more of school district twenty-one's mountainsides. The two walked down long, twisting manmade trails, found themselves stepping over deep, intimidating pitfalls with the aid of the odd helpful tree that had managed to defy expectations and grow in the mostly barren mountains, and climbed up rocky cliff faces. Much to Motoharu's chagrin, Itsuwa seemed to be much more skilled than him at rock climbing. Her hands and feet seemed to find the right ledges, and gripped onto the sturdiest of the many protruding rock formations.

Itsuwa, who had long since arrived at one of the higher trails, moved to help Motoharu clamber up to (mostly solid ground). Gripping both of his wrists, she gave him a mighty tug, and pulled him up to her. She nearly lost her footing as she did so, but managed to save her face from an untimely meeting with the dusty, gravel-covered trail.

"Guys… and girls… should be just up here… way hotter, must be really close to that fire… this is where I told them to meet us…" Motoharu panted. He bent over, hands placed on his knees. Itsuwa noticed the increased speed of his chest's rises and falls, and knelt down before him to look into his face. Her bare knees were scraped by gravel and chunks of rock, which was more than a little uncomfortable, but Itsuwa didn't care.

"Tsuchimikado-san? Are you alright? You're looking…"

Motoharu rose up, shook his drenched blonde hair, pushed his sunglasses back up onto his face, and chuckled. "I'm more than alright. I'm tight, babe. When I find the fuckface, or multiple fuckfaces who did this, and the underground mall, I'm going to pull a pre-marriage Kami-yan and correct their goddamn lives." Itsuwa didn't respond; instead, she stood up as well, and took the lead, even if she didn't know exactly where Motoharu's agents were stationed. The Spymaster followed not long after.

Itsuwa and Motoharu walked down the trail that had been partly laid through a mountain pass. On either side, the two were flanked by surprisingly smooth-looking walls of dark stone. They spoke little; the only sound audible was that of gravel and larger stones crunching beneath their shoes, which, accompanied by the distant sounds of roaring flames and the intense, overwhelming heat, made the duo feel as if they had stepped through the gaping maw of Hell itself.

After some time, Motoharu and Itsuwa had emerged from the pass. The trail continued, and neither party was particularly pleased to learn that it continued up a conclave slope. Motoharu shrugged and produced an exasperated sigh, while Itsuwa put her hands on her hips, and gently chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated what their next actions would be.

"Spymaster! We found shade! Over here!" The voice of a male proclaimed. Motoharu instantly felt the desire to scold the owner of the disembodied voice for shouting in what was, for all intents and purposes, a high risk area, but pushed the feeling away. "Allowing my frustrations, and this God-forsaken fucking heat to get the better of me won't accomplish anything."

Motoharu turned, and tried to determine from where, exactly, the proclamation had originated. Itsuwa, however, had beaten him to the punch. "Tsuchimikado-san, over there. I can see someone sticking their head out." Itsuwa softly spoke, much to Motoharu's appreciation. She pointed to a small, hollowed-out section of a nearby rock formation. Motoharu's vision followed Itsuwa's finger until it came upon the form of an older male, whose head was indeed protruding from the shadowy crevice. Motoharu couldn't quite make out the older man's facial features, though the Spymaster could see his dirty blonde, almost brown hair.

"Not anyone I recognize off-hand, but I don't really get personal with everyone I've got working in here… ah, what the fuck? I don't know about you, but I could go for some shade right about now," Motoharu rambled. "To the sketchy hole in the wall! Awaaaaay!" He spoke in a hushed tone of voice. Itsuwa, frustrated, forcibly pushed the bangs from her eyes, for what felt to her like the hundredth time, ready to rip them from her scalp, and followed as she grumbled aloud.

The two, having walked some twenty feet towards the crevice, were waved in by the same older-looking man. Up close, his features could be better made out. He appeared to be Caucasian, his face was chiseled by the creases and semi-noticeable wrinkles that came with age, and his hair was shaggier than Motoharu had expected.

He appeared to be dressed in rather simple civilian clothing – a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of dark blue khaki pants. Around his neck, he had a simplistic golden necklace. This alone would've been enough for Motoharu to immediately recognize him as an adherent of the Amakusa-Style Remix of Church, who he knew wielded common, everyday items imbued with powerful magics, but the large, unwieldly-looking broadsword strapped to his back was a dead giveaway.

Accompanying him were two other individuals, neither of whom were Amakusans. The first, Motoharu recognized instantly – she was a smaller woman. The Spymaster had seen her before, and knew her to be a member of the Agnese Forces. She had smooth-looking skin, and a face that screamed "I really wish I wasn't here right now". She was clad from head to toe in a dark nun's habit, with a cowl to match. In her right hand, she held up a spear that was much larger than she was. The second individual, a male, Caucasian like his comrade, was younger than the first, though he still looked to be older than Motoharu or Itsuwa. He wore a light blue, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of tight-fitting, expensive-looking pants of the same color, and had short, light blue hair to match. He wielded no weapon, though Itsuwa silently theorized that he aligned himself with the element of water, one of the elements important to western magic.

"Spymaster, Itsuwa! 'Ello! Stinkin' hot up here, and I say stinkin' because… ugh. Smells like a nice mix of burning flesh and rotten fish," The older man commented. Motoharu cringed ever so slightly. His involvement with the turmoil that followed the Fall of the Director had more than acquainted him with the scent of burning human corpses.

"Yup. Welcome to Hell, boys and girls." Motoharu retorted. At the very least, Motoharu found it to be cool and refreshing inside of the crevice. It wasn't a lot bigger on the inside than it was on the outside; it was about the size of a small house. The bumpy, damp stone floors felt more like the tongue of some great beast than true ground to stand on, and the convex, stalagmite-covered ceiling felt more like that same beast's palate.

"You've been here longer than we have. What's the situation?" Itsuwa inquired. The young woman knew she'd regret it when laundry day inevitably rolled around, but she sat down on the cold, lumpy, uncomfortable floor of the small cave, and crossed her legs.

"Situation? Well, there's not really a situation to speak of; those metal golems of yours are having a bit of a tussle with the fire. They're not the only ones up there, though," the older man stated. "Benjamin 'ere," the older man gestured to the younger man clad in blue, "saw someone with blonde hair parlaying with some brutish enforcer types down the way. By the time 'e reported back to me with the news, she was long gone when he went back to check. Shame, the more allies, the better."

Motoharu turned to look at the sitting Itsuwa, who offered him a shrug. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Itsuwa inquired. Motoharu gave a sigh, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and began to pace. "Yeah, I think so. Don't they have enough problems over there? Why would she be here? Wherever her feet walk, trouble and bullshit linger behind. I really fucking hope it's not her."

"Who?" The younger man known as Benjamin inquired. "Are they an enemy of ours, Spymaster?"

Motoharu chuckled, though there was very little humor in it. It sounded more like a vocalization of his frustration than a sound of mirth. "Not officially anymore, though she's stepped on our toes on more than one occasion. Does the name… "Leivinia Birdway" ring any bells? If you've met her at any point in your life, it should."

"It does," the woman who Motoharu recognized as being a member of the Agnese Forces replied. "She leads a cabal known as the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, correct? I know very little of Miss Birdway or of her cabal, though I know well enough of their ruthlessness."

"Figures one of you poor bastards would. If Birdway's here, it means one thing: shit's about to hit the fucking fan. Academy City's crippled, almost defenseless; she could easily be planning to try and take the throne of Director for herself," Motoharu theorized. "As much as I wish I could say it's none of my business, it kind of is. If Birdway takes Academy City, it could be World War Four."

"You're getting all of this from a simple description of a woman with blonde hair?" Itsuwa rhetorically asked. "Tsuchimikado-san, I think the heat's getting to your head. Maybe we should find water, or hike back down and get some?"

"Did someone say water?" Benjamin enthusiastically inquired, rising up from his seat on the floor. "You want water, Spymaster? I can conjure all the water you could ever want or need! Just open your mouth, and I'll get you hydrated. Can't conjure a whole lot else, but I can conjure lots of water!"

In any other situation, Motoharu would've laughed the offer off, and possibly followed his laughter with some sort of sexually-charged joke. In the moment, though, Motoharu's body was pleading for rehydration, and he'd take anything. "Fill me up, big boy!" Motoharu exclaimed before he opened his mouth. Benjamin gave an enthusiastic nod, spread his legs, parted his hands, and began to concentrate. His brow furrowed as he closed his eyes. Mere seconds later, two globules of clear, rippling water formed in the palms of the man's hands. He extended both of his hands outwards, and from the globules floating in his palms, Benjamin sprayed Motoharu's mouth with two jets of crystal clear water.

Minutes passed, and Motoharu had finally just had enough; he closed his mouth, wiped his sleeve across his lips to clear any access water away, and sighed in satisfaction. "I owe you one, Benjamin. That's your name, right? Benjamin?" Benjamin gave a nod, and Motoharu was silently relieved.

"Could I have some too?" Came Itsuwa's pleading voice. She had risen up, pushed by a feeling of absolute thirst. Motoharu's mind raced, and he felt a bulge form in his sweatpants. "Don't open your mouth, Itsuwa. Please don't open your mouth. Itsuwa, Itsuwa, ITSUWA, NO! ITSUW-"

Itsuwa closed her eyes, and parted her lips slightly. Benjamin, who didn't seem to be having the same sort of depraved thoughts as his Spymaster, enthusiastically provided his Amakusan ally with two rehydrating jets of water.

Motoharu's knees were practically shaking as sickening, perverted thoughts rushed by him. Images of Itsuwa, with her lips parted just enough for… something, to enter, wearing a variant of the Great Spirit Revealing Maid outfit better suited for her fully matured body, were among those thoughts.

"Tsuchimikado-san? Are you well? Do you need more water? You look dazed." Itsuwa prodded. She had finished her drink, and looked considerably better off because of it.

"Fine. I am… fine. Perfectly fine, Itsuwa. Ha! If everyone's ready, we should stop dawdling. There's a big ol' weird green fire up there that needs to be stopped. Who's better to stop it than the five of us?!" Motoharu proclaimed, swiftly changing the subject. He took the lead, and began to enthusiastically march forward. Itsuwa shrugged at her comrades, and followed the Spymaster.

By the time the group had climbed up the rocky, seemingly unmaintained slope and walked through the last of the winding gravel trails that lead up to the scorched mountaintops of school district twenty-one, they found themselves overwhelmed on all fronts. They were closer than ever to the hideous, crackling, snarling green inferno, and the unbearable heat, combined with the appalling stench nearly broke the magicians.

As they rounded one last set of fallen lumps of rock, the severity of the situation suddenly became all too apparent. The husks of OFFICER Network firefighters laid in heaps, burnt to a crisp, while others walked blindly into the fire. On their backs each Network firefighter had a silver metallic water tank, which was connected to a long, wide nozzle on the end of each of their right wrists by translucent tubes. From these nozzles, the robotic firefighters sprayed short, powerful bursts of water into the blaze. Each time they did, the inferno hissed in response. It was also then that Motoharu noticed that the fire had a source point – it appeared to be spewing from the wide, short mouth of a crevice, to their immediate north. Motoharu couldn't help but see the mouth of the crevice as the jaws of a great dragon.

"What are we going to do about the Network?" Itsuwa pried. "If we intervene, will they try and apprehend us? Can they identify us?"

Motoharu shook his head and flashed a wide, toothy grin at her. "The Director has no reason to turn against us; we'll be good. They're not quite a friend, but they have no reason to hold anything against us. Director has enough problems as it is; the last thing they want is the Network's drones going around gobbling about "intruders."

Immediately, the water-manipulating Benjamin began to assist the Network's firefighters. He sprayed the inferno down with his own continuous jets, as Motoharu and Itsuwa held their position with the older man and the Agnese Forces-aligned nun. Itsuwa turned to face the Spymaster, who appeared to be scanning the area; he craned his neck slowly, from side to side, as if to inspect every inch of the area that he possibly could.

Itsuwa's voice came again. "Looking for Birdway?"

Motoharu initially responded with a short, quiet, distracted "uh huh" before he turned his full attention to his traveling companion. "I'm not seeing anyone here besides us and the bots the Network sent. She could've come, found whatever she was looking for, if she was looking for anything at all, and left, which would be bad. If it is Birdway, and she's still here, I'd like to try and put a stop to whatever she's planning… but that's not going to be easy, is it? Birdway's a fucking powerhouse." The Spymaster sighed in frustration, and wiped the sweat from his brow, his neck, and finally, shook it from his hair. "With this in mind, it kinda makes me wonder if it's Birdway doing everything. I've never seen her attack with this weird fire, but there's really an infinite number of possibilities."

As Motoharu gazed into the dancing, writhing, hissing flames, the Spymaster began to process everything that was going on around him. Internally, he sought to analyze all of this information, absorb it, and let it sit.

"If Birdway is here after all, and I'm not just overthinking that old man's words, just how are we going to go about stopping her? Will Kami-yan have the balls to step up and take action? What about Misaka-san, or Accelerator? If we had to, I guess we could get in touch with Sogiita… on second thought, I think I'd rather die. Maybe Fukiyose-sensei could punch her to death. There's always Aogami, but, nah. I don't want to see Birdway get molested. Fuck, what do I even do? Is there anything I can do? Fuck the Archbishop for leaving me here, underfunded and with no support from England. Cunt."

Necessarius' Spymaster gave a nod to the flames before him, as if to announce that he planned to depart. "Itsuwa, old dude, battle-nun? You with me? I'd like to find some trace of the person who beat us here, especially if that person is Birdway," Motoharu announced. Itsuwa ran the palms of her hands across her neck and grunted in agreement.

"My name is Isaac, Spymaster…" the older man grumbled. The Agnese Forces-aligned battle-nun responded; she sheathed her spear and wordlessly took to the side of the Spymaster of Necessarius.

For a while, as Benjamin continued to fight the emerald inferno, Motoharu, Itsuwa, Isaac and the battle-nun, who had so far had neglected to share her name, poked around the bumpy, mostly charred area. Motoharu knew his quarry would've had a difficult time escaping, if they had chosen to – the Spymaster and his allies were boxed in on all sides by enormous clumps of rock that were smaller than the mountainous hilltop they found themselves on. His quarry's hypothetical escape would've been anything but clean. Still, even with this considered, the group had a wide area of space to comb over. Thankfully for them, there didn't seem to be any caverns or crevices other than the one to the north of the group.

Motoharu and his comrades had traversed to the eastern end of the hilltop; more than ever, the stench of the emerald blaze, and the heat it produced wore on the group's willpower. Itsuwa seemed to be holding strong, despite the grumpy look on her face, but Isaac and the battle-nun didn't look to be fairing as well. Motoharu spat, turned around on his heel, and prepared to announce that they would return to Benjamin, but, before his lips could form a single word, he caught something in his peripheral vision. The Spymaster's instincts, honed from years of Necessarius' strict training exercises, went into overdrive. He snapped his head back, and raised his hand, demanding continued silence.

The object of the Spymaster's interest was only fifty feet, give or take, away from he and his comrade's position. It, or more accurately, they were kneeling next to patches of dead, charred earth, surrounded by eight or nine surprisingly regular people. Before them, what appeared to be large squares were laid out, as well as other types of various objects. At least, the people surrounding the object of Motoharu's interest looked regular – both Motoharu and Itsuwa had learned long ago that, in the world of magic, those that appeared normal were oftentimes anything but.

"With me. Stay calm, quiet and collected. Petite? Blonde, nearly white hair? Clothing, from here, looks pretty regular. Nothing you wouldn't see at a mall, or out on the street… hah. Let's see if we can't get the drop on 'em?" Motoharu inquired. No one verbally objected, and so Motoharu began what turned out to be a surprisingly swift trek from he and his comrades' position to the position of the individuals who had gained the Spymaster's interest.

The object of interest turned to face them. She smiled, her blue eyes glowing with happiness. She appeared to be having the time of her life. Long, fluffy almost white, hair, which ended in delicate curls fell to her shoulders. She seemed to have dressed accordingly; she wore a pair of khaki pants that hugged her curves, which were rolled up to her knees, and a white, somewhat dirtied sleeveless top.

"Tsuchimikado-san, Itsuwa, people I don't know! Hi! It's so nice to see you two again, and I'm pleased to meet the two of you I don't know!" She exclaimed. This most certainly wasn't Leivinia Birdway; this woman's demeanor alone was the complete opposite of the scheming, manipulative Leivinia's.

"Uhh…" Motoharu mumbled, seemingly embarrassed. Itsuwa had an idea as to why, and decided to try and back up her thoughts with action.

"Birdway-san! You're a sight for sore eyes!" Itsuwa proclaimed.

This other Birdway blushed, her bubbly smile never fading. "Please, Itsuwa! Call me Patricia. What are you and yours doing in this nasty place?" Patricia inquired, her burning curiosity evident in her tone of voice.

"Actually, I could ask you the same thing, Birdway-san." Motoharu said. Itsuwa shot him a look, as if to ask, "why are you acting so suspicious?" The Spymaster merely flashed his companion a grin in response.

"Patricia, Tsuchimikado-san! I'm here for research purposes, actually. It's a bit of a long story, but I've been working to prove a thesis of mine. These odd attacks, and reports of emerald-colored fire could throw a curveball at my magical studies. Admittedly, I didn't expect today's fieldwork session to be so intense…" Patricia explained.

"Since when did you know about…" Motoharu began, but Patricia swiftly cut him off. "Before you ask, a few years ago, my sister opened up to me about… well, about everything. My sister figured I was "old enough to know". I don't quite know why she didn't tell me when we were children, but my sister's an oddball. You learn not to question someone like her," Patricia stated.

"About this thesis," Motoharu prodded. He'd learn what the Birdway he was concerned with was up to. If Patricia had been introduced to the Magic Side, it was very possible for her to have swayed, or have been swayed Leivinia's way.

"It would be hard for me to explain it all here, Tsuchimikado-san! I guess there's no harm in trying to put everything out on the figurative table for you in layman's terms; I believe that both magic and science might've been derived from a singular powerful force. Magicians and espers are very much alike, after all!" Patricia explained. "I had one of my sister's cohorts – I don't mean that in a bad way! They're very nice men, but that's unfortunately their official job description –analyze the area. I'm not a magician myself, so I can't sense mana, but my sister's cohorts can. They each felt residual mana, and stated that it's like nothing they've ever felt before! This could be a missing link, or at least, a lost piece of the puzzle!" Patricia immediately turned her attention to an open notebook that had been laid out on the ground, picked up a nearby pen, and began to swiftly, and messily jot something down in its pages.

"Birdway, what the fuck did you do to her? You have something planned. You wouldn't just tell your sister about your glorified terrorist organization, about our side, out of sisterly love. Patricia's curious, intelligent… the perfect puppet. Fuck you, Birdway. If I wasn't the exact same way that you are, I'd say that you sicken me."

"That's… very interesting, Patricia!" Itsuwa nervously exclaimed. Apparently, she was wrestling with her own anxiousness; in fact, Motoharu figured that she was having similar thoughts to his own. A rarity indeed.

"I'd like to try and get to the fire's origin point, if it has one! Unlike the fire that started in the underground mall, this whole area's public property!" Patricia said with excitement evident in her tone of voice.

Itsuwa turned to look back at the raging fire – it was on the verge of being tamed by the efforts of the OFFICER Network's firefighters and Benjamin, though it fought on. The fire's opponents had pushed it back towards the crevice that it surged from, and, for a moment, Itsuwa saw the blaze as a living, sentient thing that was exerting itself and struggling to live, but she quickly shook off the illogical thought.

"I wouldn't mind taking a peak at it myself. Once it's extinguished, we might be able to learn more about these incidents… and who exactly may or may not be behind them," Motoharu commented cryptically. He ran his hands through his hair – though the heat had died down, and much of the stench had gone with it, the fire's last stand was more than enough to continue to cause the Spymaster and his comrades discomfort.

"I guess we're playing the waiting game, then!" Patricia commented.

Misaka Mikoto took another bite of her sandwich, placed it down on her plate, and, lips smacking, checked her phone for the umpteenth time; there were no replies to be spoken of. All afternoon, Mikoto had been attempting to get a hold of her once-friend Uiharu Kazari, without success. Mikoto washed the sandwich down with a gulp of her chocolate milkshake, and leaned back in her booth.

Mikoto sat quietly in Joseph's Coffee and Restaurant, a location that held some lovely memories for the Railgun. Even if a lot of her days in middle school had been anything but normal, Mikoto could hold the times she had with Saten Ruiko, Uiharu Kazari, and Shirai Kuroko close to her heart. Though she found herself alone, Mikoto didn't mind. In fact, given the way that she felt, it was probably better that she was alone. Mikoto could mope around and reminisce all she wanted without bringing anyone down.

She raised her sandwich back to her lips and sank her teeth into it. As she chewed, the glorious taste of the various cuts of meat and soft, crunchy lettuce pleasured her taste buds. Mikoto's phone buzzed. She practically threw her sandwich back to its plate, wiped her fingers on a nearby napkin, and unlocked the device.

"Onee-sama? Do you want to do something? I just got off duty. I'm tired, but I miss you. We should have a sleepover… /drool. How about it?"

Mikoto's lips curled into a smile as she giggled softly to herself. The Railgun didn't know it, but a blush had appeared on her cheeks. She moved her chestnut brown bangs away from her eyes as she looked down at the tempting text message. Almost immediately, her mood changed on a dime.

"I miss you too, Kuroko, and, I feel like I want you…? Yeah. I do want you. I remember what I told Kamijou-san on that day we were together. I'd be honest with you about my feelings. You deserve it. I've been being too hard on myself, lately. Time to chin up."

Mikoto's fingers dashed across her phone's virtual keypad. "Sure Kuroko. It's a little bit of a spur of the moment thing but not everything has to be planned out right? My place or yours? I'm at Joseph's so I can be anywhere"

Mere seconds later, Mikoto's phone vibrated in the palms of her hands. "Yay! Doesn't matter to me, onee-sama. I can use my ability to get home, and you can use yours to get here? My place, I guess?"

Mikoto's decision to reply was swift; she felt excitement building up inside of her. She wasn't going to play dumb with herself. Mikoto was excited to see Kuroko again, especially in a relaxing environment, where the two could let loose. The Railgun's blush only deepened as she formed her response. "works for me! Give me a minute to finish my supper and ill be there"

Renewed and full of vigor, Mikoto devoured the remaining bits of her sandwich, drained her milkshake's glass, and, then proceeded to vigorously rub her hands down with a new napkin. She ran the napkin over her lips once, twice, three times, and finally a forth before she proceeded to be rid of her trash. Mikoto patiently waited for her waiter to return with her bill; she paid in cash and provided the young man with a large tip for his helpful and refreshingly cheerful service before she left the restaurant, and her woes behind.

Mikoto stepped out from Joseph's Coffee and Restaurant, glass doors swinging shut behind her as she stretched. She inhaled deeply, allowing the fresh, cool air of nighttime Academy City to fill her lungs. It got slightly cooler when the sun left the skies, and Mikoto had dressed properly for the occasion. She wore a light, long sleeved shirt which depicted a quartet of dancing Gekotas, each clad in a tuxedo and a top hat in the center, a pair of denim shorts, and a pair of green shoes to match her shirt. Mikoto's hair was tied up in a messy bun; if she knew that Kuroko would've come calling that night, she would've prettied herself up a tad more, even if she knew Kuroko wouldn't judge her.

With the aid of the arsenal of perks she had access to as a high level electromaster, Mikoto propelled herself towards a nearby structure made of magnetisable metal, and, with that, she was off. Like a blur, the Railgun leapt from rooftop to rooftop, balcony to balcony, and even made a stop at the Kamijou residence, though the lights were out. She ignored the urge to ding dong ditch her friends by knocking on the outer glass of their balcony doors, and pressed on. The Railgun surged across the skyline of Academy City, loose electricity jumping from her form every so often.

By the time Mikoto reached Kuroko's school district seven apartment complex, she felt rather pleased with herself. Mikoto produced her cellphone, and checked the time; she had completed in just short of ten minutes a trip that would've taken anyone else thirty minutes. Of course, Mikoto didn't think that she was above those people by any means; Mikoto believed everyone was special and had reason to be proud of themselves, in their own unique ways.

Mikoto pulled the glass doors of the complex open, and stepped in, shoes tapping against tiled floors. An impish grin formed on the third ranked level five's face, and she disabled the security cameras in the entranceway with her ability. The door that lead from the entranceway and into the lobby was easily opened without a key through her ability, however, when Mikoto closed it behind her, she ensured that it locked properly. Mikoto called for the elevator, waited impatiently for a few minutes, and, once it finally decided to come to her aid, Mikoto stepped in.

The Railgun found herself alone in the elevator, and her excitement only grew. Mikoto's heart raced, and she found herself smiling. With a single text message from her friend, Mikoto's entire night had turned around. Her entire outlook, not only on recent events, but the past, had become, for the time being at least, positive again. Mikoto used her ability to have the elevator take her to the complex's twelfth floor, on which Kuroko's apartment was located.

As Mikoto stepped out of the elevator, she had to stop herself from breaking into a sprint. She turned the corner, moved to the door that she recognized as Kuroko's, and gently knocked, though she wanted to furiously pound on it in order to immediately draw her friend's attention.

Seconds, which were agonizing to Mikoto passed before Kuroko's voice could be heard.

"Onee-Sama?" She asked. "Why didn't you buzz me? Did you hack your way in?! You're a ruffian!"

"I'm not your Onee-Sama; I'm a ghoooost!" Mikoto exclaimed, giggling as she did so.

Kuroko opened the door to her apartment. "Onee-Sama! I'm so happy to see you. Please, come in! Ah, I'm so excited!" Kuroko exclaimed. "I just need to let loose with the one person I… I know I can let loose with! It's been so stressful, Onee-Sama, especially with Devastator around… it's been a handful," Kuroko rambled. She panted, and allowed herself to catch her breath. A part of Mikoto half-expected that machine to pop out, but, it had so far neglected to do so.

"Kuroko… is that robot here?" Mikoto asked nervously. That automaton was the last thing she needed at that moment. Kuroko shook her head. "No, Onee-Sama. It's at our school district seven headquarters. It mostly slept today, thankfully, so I was able to get a break."

Kuroko's Anti Skill uniform laid in a messy lump at the foot of her couch. Kuroko's apartment had always been cozy to the electromaster – it wasn't particularly spacious by any means, but it was just large enough to not create a cramped atmosphere. Mikoto looked her friend up and down; instead of her uniform, Kuroko wore a baggy pair of white gym shorts with two yellow stripes down either side, and an equally baggy white yellow tee shirt. Kuroko wore her tawny hair down; to Mikoto, it looked so elegant, like the flowing hair of royalty. Mikoto looked deeply into Kuroko's brown eyes, and she saw her own reflection in them. The Railgun felt herself shiver.

The living room of Kuroko's apartment had a fair sized computer desk, accompanied by a tall, padded chair, with a rather impressive-looking black and red tower, three monitors lined up together, and a cutting edge mouse and keyboard designed for gaming. A video game console controller was plugged into one of the USB ports on the front of the tower, and a rather large speaker was set on either side of the trio of monitors. Next to the computer desk was a wall unit that held all sorts of framed pictures, mostly of Kuroko and Mikoto, which made the electromaster blush, though there was a picture that depicted Mikoto, Kuroko, and the Kamijous making goofy faces together. On the other side of the living room, there were two glass doors that lead out to the apartment's large balcony.

"So, Onee-Sama, what do you want to do? I can grab another chair, and you can play on my rig," Kuroko pointed to her impressive gaming setup, "we can stream, or…"

Mikoto grabbed Kuroko's wrists, and pulled her towards the couch. She was done with waiting. She was done with hoping someone wouldn't take Kuroko from her. Misaka Mikoto would lay her claim, there and then. This wasn't originally what Misaka Mikoto had in mind, but this is what her thoughts turned to, and it felt oh so right. "O-Onee-sama?! I didn't know you wanted that! You could've just said!" Kuroko giggled.

Kuroko playfully struggled to escape Mikoto's grasp, to no avail. The teleporter allowed herself to fall onto the couch as Mikoto released her, and welcomed her Onee-Sama's body as Mikoto climbed on top of her. The Railgun looked down at her friend, who was so much more than a friend. Thoughts rushed through her mind; thoughts of lust, thoughts of its much more emotional counterpart, love, thoughts of wild desire, but one thought stuck out like a sore thumb in the electromaster's mind.

"Kamijou-san? Thank you. I've been telling myself that I need to take this more seriously, but I've never taken my own thoughts seriously when it comes to this, I guess. I don't know if I thought Kuroko would just make the first move, or if I even wanted her to, but I think… I think I just need some time to put everything in perspective with her."

"Are you just going to look down at me, Onee-Sama? Don't be lame. I can already tell that you're in a dominating mood. That's fine, I can roll with it," Kuroko whispered, her hands moving to her precious, adored Railgun's chest.

"Say my name, Kuroko." Mikoto commanded. Her lustful glare only intensified as she lowered herself towards her friend temporarily turned lover. Mikoto felt her heart slamming within her, and she could feel the heat in her face, but she didn't care.

"Misaka Mikoto…" Kuroko panted. "Misaka Mikoto…"

Shirai Kuroko felt her body tremble as her hands reached beneath Mikoto's shirt – internally, she couldn't help but express distaste at her adored one's love for the stupid, childish green mascot, but, at the same time, it was something that made Misaka Mikoto unique. It made Misaka Mikoto who she was.

Electricity jumped from Mikoto's body as Kuroko's fingers ran across her bare skin. The electromaster's body shivered, and her blush only deepened. "K-Kuroko…?" Mikoto stammered.

"Mikoto?" Kuroko replied. A sudden, wild craving overtook the teleporter; she proceeded to savagely tear Mikoto's shirt away from her body. With the obstruction gone, Kuroko could eyeball her precious Onee-Sama as much as she wanted. Kuroko's eyes widened, and she took a sharp, sudden breath. She had seen this body countless times before, she had licked and kissed this body before, she had caressed this body before, and yet, Kuroko was still taken aback.

"Shirai Kuroko, I want to…" Mikoto hesitated. Her words were at the tip of her tongue. Mikoto forced them out; she would hold them back no longer.

"I want to t-take this to the next level. Just you and I. Deep down, I've always been scared that someone would take you away from m-me. I-I've never had the courage to say this before, but I'm saying it now, because I feel like this is the right time. I think it's because… of everything that's been happening, lately. I want to truly… l-love you, Kuroko. I want to be more than friends, or friends who lust for e-each other.

"Ever since we were in middle school, living together in our… d-dorm, I always wanted you, but I'd never let myself show it. I thought if I brought you too close to me, that something would happen to you, and I didn't want that. I t-thought I'd have to love you from afar, for your own safety… maybe I still should, maybe this is the selfish thing to do, but I don't care! If this is selfish, then I admit, I'm selfish! I want you to be my l-lover… Kuroko…

"Whenever you threw yourself at me, I just wanted to return your love, but I knew, or thought that I couldn't! I was confused, and maybe I still am… I had feelings for Touma, but I knew they would never be reciprocated… but that's okay. Touma and I love each other in a different way. It's different from his love for Misaki, but… that's okay. As long as Touma and I can be friends, I'm beyond happy! But you? I want you, I don't want to lose you. I know this is all really, really sudden, and I don't expect an instant answer from you… I know how people can be judgmental of others; to some people two women loving each other isn't n-normal... but, if it's not normal, I want to be abnormal with you, Kuroko."

For some time, Kuroko simply stared up at Mikoto. Kuroko had a thousand things she wanted to say to Mikoto, over a decade's worth of confessions. Rather than speak immediately, however, Shirai Kuroko's lips curled into a wide, adoring smile. Her eyes gleamed as tears stung them. Kuroko felt a lump form in her throat, and her chin tightened.

Shirai Kuroko had never been happier in her entire life. This was a moment in Kuroko's life that was almost beyond description.

Kuroko inhaled deeply, and pulled Mikoto towards her. Kuroko's own lips pressed against Mikoto's soft, warm, beautiful, flawless, heavenly lips. The teleporter ran her fingers over the Railgun's soft, silky smooth skin.

Mikoto's body shivered in Kuroko's arms. She pulled away, and continued to look down at her teleporter. Not anyone else's teleporter, Kuroko was Mikoto's, now.

"Misaka Mikoto, I don't care what anyone thinks, or is going to think about us. Let them talk. Those who are worthy of us, those who are important, will understand and approve; of this I'm certain. Do you have any idea how long I've waited, and for how long I've hoped that I'd hear you speak these words? Do you really know how long I've loved you? When we were younger, Onee-Sa… Mikoto, I was in love with you. I knew I wanted you, in so many more ways than one.

"I wanted you physically, I wanted you emotionally, I wanted you mentally… I just wanted you. When everything was happening, when you'd leave our dorm late at night to go out and try to stop those experiments, I never understood why you wouldn't tell me what was happening, or what troubled you. I was… always so worried about you. When you eventually told me, it didn't hit me all at once. I don't think it's still completely hit me. You could've… d-died. I could've lost you.

"I could've l-lost the one person I loved more than anything and anyone. Though you never told me anything, I should have dug deeper than I did. Perhaps I could've helped… somehow. Misaka Mikoto, thank you for giving me this chance to redeem myself. Thank you giving me the chance to love you as I should've all those years ago."

It was Mikoto's turn to stare in a state of shocked silence. Every time those memories were brought up, it was like Mikoto had a rusty knife stabbed deep into her heart. Just like Touma, Mikoto knew that Kuroko didn't mean it. Still, it meant that all of these years later, Mikoto was still traumatized.

"Thank you for giving me the chance to free myself, Shirai Kuroko. There's still a lot I haven't told you about what happened with… him; it's not something I want spent any more time dwelling on… but, maybe, if we take the next step… this is going to sound so selfish. This is going to sound like I only care about myself, Kuroko. Maybe…"

"Mikoto." Kuroko stated seriously. She pulled herself up, and took Mikoto into her arms. The Railgun didn't resist; she allowed her precious teleporter to hold her close and offer her comfort; a unique sense of comfort that she had stupidly turned away, time and time again, in some idiotic, desperate bid to appear strong.

Kuroko looked into her Railgun's eyes, and smiled. "Mikoto, you will never be selfish to me. Say what you want to say. You are a selfless person, who's sacrificed everything to be where you are. You've conquered so much, and you've come so far in the journey of your life… Mikoto, I'm so proud of you. I want to share the remainder of your journey with you. I always have."

"Maybe, if we take the next step, I can finally move on, and come to accept the deaths of my Sisters… my beautiful, innocent Sisters. Maybe I can stop hating him… maybe I can try and understand him. It's been ten years, and I try my hardest to tell myself that he was used, that he made a horrible, horrible mistake, that he's atoned for his sins… but a part of me tells me that he didn't, and he hasn't. It tells me that I should continue to hate him, Kuroko, and, maybe, being with you… really being with you, being your… g-girlfriend… your partner… maybe it could fix me." Mikoto sighed, and allowed herself to show weakness.

The Railgun had shown only two other people her crying face. She had only allowed two other people to see her in such a weakened, pathetic state, and those people were Kamijou Touma and Shokuhou Misaki. Kuroko would be the third.

Warm, wet tears dripped down from the corners of Mikoto's eyes, down her cheeks, and onto Kuroko's shirt, though the teleporter didn't seem to mind. Her grip on Mikoto only tightened. Mikoto would allow herself to be weak, just this once. She laid her head down on Kuroko's lap, and allowed Kuroko to run her hands through her chestnut brown locks.

"Mikoto, I'd love to be your girlfriend."

The response shook Misaka Mikoto to her very core, and for the second time that night, it changed everything. Mikoto's weeping only grew louder, but both grief and happiness mixed together in her tears. She felt, for the first time in a long time, like she was secure. In Kuroko's lap, having her beloved teleporter's hands running along her almost bare body, Mikoto felt all sorts of strange and new sensations, all of which were welcomed with figuratively open arms. Once again, Misaka Mikoto's life would change.


	20. A Certain Harmony

September 23rd, 2014. 12:05 AM.

In a grand, luxurious bed fit more for a Queen than an Archbishop, Laura Stuart laid awake, head propped up against the golden, jewel-encrusted headboard. There were two long, wide, thick pieces of soft material in the center of the headboard, designed specifically to provide comfort for the Archbishop's back and neck. In her lap, the Archbishop of Necessarius held an open book from which she read.

The Archbishop's personal quarters in St. George's Cathedral were spacious, and lavishly furnished to her likings. Directly across from Laura Stuart's bed, there was an enormous, metallic fireplace, which contained crackling, orange flames that nibbled away at a neatly organized pile of charred firewood. Above the fireplace was a stunningly gorgeous painting which depicted an idyllic-looking destination, likely somewhere in the British Isles. To the left of the Archbishop's bed, pressed against the wall was a singular row of tall, beautifully and delicately carved bookshelves, each of which contained hundreds of unique books. In the center of the right wall, there was a wide, gold-trimmed, rectangular window that looked out into one of the colorful gardens that surrounded St. George's cathedral. To the left of the fireplace, sat an elegant table, with two equally elegant throne-like chairs. The table was lavishly decorated; the long, lacy, white tablecloth hung just past the table's edges, and on it sat a shining metallic tray, which held a silver, ornate teapot, and a singular, empty teacup.

There was a soft, slow, almost methodic knocking at the door of Laura Stuart's private quarters. Laura's brow furrowed, and she frowned. Laura knew all too well who it was that sought her out, especially at this time of the morning. It was the same beast who had been seeking her for as long as she could remember.

"If I deny you, will you take your leave? Will you leave me in peace?" Laura rhetorically asked; she already knew the answer.

"No."

The voice was that of hers. Or, as Laura began to comprehend it, and played it again and again in her mind, it sounded vaguely like her own voice. It was so very similar, yet, there was something that was so inherently wrong with it. The pitch of this voice was much deeper than her own. It was dripping with contempt and cold, calculating malice. For Laura Stuart, a master manipulator in her own right, someone who was always in control, being outwitted and pushed into a corner was an absolute nightmare. It was torture.

"You'll open this door, or I'll allow myself in, accursed, sniveling, gut-wrenchingly stinking fecal matter, pushed from the shit-smeared sphincter of Yahweh."

Laura Stuart gritted her teeth, and glared down at the crackling fire in her fireplace. She clenched her fists so tightly that her long, beautifully painted golden fingernails bit into the palms of her hands.

"Miserable wretch."

The Archbishop of Necessarius rose up from her bed, bare feet touching the cold hardwood floor. It sent a shiver down Laura Stuart's spine. Her long, golden hair flowed behind her, and she pulled up her light purple nightgown, in order to prevent it from being dragged along the floor. She despised this feeling. Laura Stuart, the Archbishop of Necessarius, the mightiest magical superpower on earth and beyond, felt weakened, helpless, and terrified.

Apparently, Laura Stuart had taken too long. The door to her private quarters violently shook as a sickly emerald light enveloped it. Seconds later, the door was forced from its frame; it didn't move far before it shattered into a million pieces. St. George's Cathedral was an anti-magic stronghold; the defenses that had been put in place long ago should've been able to protect it, inside and out, from anything short of a world-affecting spell like Angel Fall. Yet, Laura Stuart witnessed the improbable, if not the impossible for herself.

The eyes that sat in the sockets of not Laura Stuart's head were not her own. They were almost entirely black, with the exception of a singular, crooked emerald star that sat in the center of either eye. This alone wouldn't have been enough to terrify the real Laura Stuart; she had seen worse. It was the enormous, invisible, yet somehow completely visible head that floated behind the body of not Laura. The head was corpulent, and it was covered in bumpy, thick-looking, marred, dark green flesh. Crackling, hissing green flames danced around the head and emerged from its eyes, nostrils, mouth, and from two holes on either side of the head. The abomination's face was terrible to look upon; two enormous, curled, jagged horns protruded from either side of its forehead. It had no nose; rather, it had two long, thin slits in the center of its face. From the upper and lower jaws of its wide, grinning lips, there were long, gnarled, bloodied tusk-like teeth that jutted out in all directions.

"This is for her sake. It is to the greatest extent, the most humane way." Not Laura Stuart spoke in a mocking, patronizing tone. "And, to think, they call ME the Deceiver."

The real Laura Stuart looked on; she didn't so much as speak a word. Her eyes darted from side to side, and, for a moment, Laura believed that she saw another form just down the hall from her private quarters, but she couldn't be sure. It could've easily been a trick of the green, fiery light produced by the monstrous head.

"Our negotiations must continue; time waits for no one. On this… night? Is it night on your pathetic seedling of a world? Regardless, as we speak, a great war, hundreds of thousands of years in the making is on the horizon, so much closer than ever before. There are mutual benefits to be found in the inevitable chaos; long have I watched as Yahweh's Firstborn have fled across the shattered peninsulas of Purgatory… my shattered peninsulas. My Purgatory. My world! It all belongs to me, as do they! They are hunted by an usurper-lord and his lapdogs! You will free me from my prison, so that I might rend their flesh, and char their very souls." The beast's mouth, and not Laura Stuart's own moved in unison as the beast barked its order.

"You have made me all too aware of "their" movements, Beliar, and your long-winded tales have grown tiresome." Laura Stuart stated, disgust evident in her tone of voice.

"BELIAL! LORD BELIAL! You will speak my name with respect, or you won't speak it at all, waste product!" The God-forsaken miscreation named Belial boomed, shaking the entirety of St. George's Cathedral.

Laura Stuart bit her lip, and she stared into the raging infernos that were the invisible yet somehow visible beast's eyes. "Apologies… Lord Belial."

Laura felt like she'd be sick to her stomach as those words escaped her lips. She felt, and could taste vomit rising in her throat.

Belial's thick, cracked, bloodied lips curled into an even wider grin of appeasement. The beast's lips dripped a bubbling, viscous substance that almost resembled tar as it did so.

"That's a good girl; I will make a servile handmaiden of you yet! As for the coming war, brace yourself. A veil between worlds will soon be lifted, and when it does, all things will come to learn to bow before me, in the end, as they were meant to."

"That does not sound like any sort of "mutual benefit" to me. Have you become tangled in your own web of lies?" Laura rhetorically inquired, as a smug, but nervous grin formed on her face. Necessarius' Archbishop knew she was testing fate, but she didn't care. She wouldn't bow completely to this monstrosity. Laura Stuart would not be broken.

"I will rule your abandoned world, and you… you will survive the cataclysm; that is your incentive! Deny me, and you will scream in agony as your weak, mortal flesh burns, along with all others foolish enough to stand against me."

Laura Stuart sighed, before she spoke again. "You have always spoken so cryptically about this war of yours. If you are truly on another world, as you say, why would I ever need to be concerned about this war?"

"You believe yourself safe on your seedling? Oh, this is rich!" Belial exclaimed, shaking the walls, ceilings and floors of St. George's Cathedral once again as its deep, unnatural voice boomed. "Beast 666's Jewel", as the usurper-lord's handmaidens call it, is already under siege! The Jewel burns, consumed by the fires of Purgatory! Fires that are rightfully mine to command!"

Belial became disturbingly soft-spoken. "Three days. I will return in three days, and if you choose to continue to reject my generous offer, there will be consequences. Pray to the dying god who has abandoned your world, waste product, and weep. Deny me, and if the usurper-lord and his half-breed armies don't claim your flesh first, I will do so myself, when I make your world my new throne."

The unnatural, starry eyes in the sockets of not Laura Stuart dissipated, as did the head of Belial. Not Laura Stuart ceased to be; the real Laura Stuart fell, and her knees hit the floor with a thud. Pain wracked her lower body as they did so.

"Archbishop."

Laura Stuart looked up. Standing just outside of the door to her personal quarters was Kanzaki Kaori. Imposingly tall and confidently poised, as always, Kaori looked down upon her pathetic, broken-looking Archbishop with a stern, yet deeply sympathetic expression. Clad in her own dark-colored nightgown, Kanzaki Kaori's body was, even in the traumatizing moment, a sight to behold. Kaori's long, flowing dark hair was tied unceremoniously into a bun.

Laura Stuart's body demanded release, as if it had been defiled. As if it had to push out the corruption that came from standing near Belial's puppet. Laura Stuart, the mighty, shrewd manipulator, the all-powerful Archbishop of Necessarius gagged, choked, and then proceeded to violently vomit onto the floor as Kaori swiftly took to her side. Laura's eyes rolled into the back of her head, and as she regurgitated her day's meals, a thought moved through her mind. It was louder than all others, as if it was demanding to be heard.

"We are all doomed. If his power is so great, even when speaking vicariously through a puppet... what force could possibly face him down in combat?"

The Archbishop of Necessarius, having nothing left to regurgitate but stomach acid, allowed herself to be cradled by the gigantic, yet beautiful and tender Kanzaki Kaori.

"Kanzaki Kaori… we need what remains of the former God's Right Seat. We need the Dawn-Colored Sunlight. We need New Light, and your Amakusa-Style Remix of Church. We need every force we can possibly muster to…"

"Work towards achieving freedom for Belial. To object to his rule, or to face him in combat is to ensure our own deaths; if Belial is to become our new god, we must..."

"…protect the United Kingdom. All other nations must fend for themselves. Our stronghold must not fall, no matter the cost."

The OFFICER Network's robotic firefighters and the water-aligned magician of Necessarius named Benjamin had beaten the hissing, snarling emerald inferno back to the mouth of the crevice from which it had been started. Not far behind, Patricia Birdway, backed by her sister's eyes and ears, and Motoharu's party of four stood, watching on.

"Once the fire's extinguished, do we charge?" Itsuwa inquired. "The waiting is killing me, Tsuchimikado-san; I want to fight something, anything!"

"I'll give you something to fight, babe." Motoharu pushed on the bridge of his sunglasses, forcing them back onto his face as he cleared his head of those filthy thoughts.

"How about we let the Network's bots stumble on in first? If there's something inside there, I'd rather lose robots than people," Motoharu replied, arms crossed.

"This is wise." The Agnese Forces-aligned battle-nun stated, her face void of any and all emotions. She looked rather tired, and as she leaned on her spear, which was thrust into the burnt, dead earth, she quietly yawned.

"Hey, thanks! It's not often that I get compliments, sweetheart. What's your name, huh? I recognize you, but I can't put a name to that beautiful face!" Motoharu exclaimed. Strangely, to the Spymaster of Necessarius at least, he felt a dark, brooding aura radiating from behind him.

"Beatrix, honored Spymaster." The battle-nun replied. "We have met in the past, but I neglected to share with you my name. Humble apologies."

Motoharu shrugged indifferently, and flashed the battle-nun a cocky grin as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "All good! No worries! Say, do you have a phone, or know how to use one? We should keep in contact…"

"No."

Motoharu's grin never faded, but, he had to admit he was rather stunned; he had been slapped before, kicked viciously in the testicles before, and had even almost been stabbed with a pencil before; of course, that was to be expected, given that he was trying to flirt with Fukiyose Seiri at the time. Necessarius' Spymaster had never been rejected so bluntly.

"Relationships in the workplace are detrimental to an efficient workflow, honored Spymaster." The battle-nun elaborated.

"Benjamin has finished extinguishing the fire…" Itsuwa spoke up. "He's waving for us."

Motoharu turned to face Itsuwa's direction, and, ignoring her slightly irritated expression, indeed saw that the older man was enthusiastically motioning for them to approach.

"Well, what're we waiting for?! Let's get going! Standing around is no fun! Let's find out what's inside there!" Patricia excitedly exclaimed. She quickly took off in the general direction of the crevice, her sister's eyes and ears not far behind. Isaac, the older Amakusan warrior, shrugged indifferently, and motioned for Beatrix to follow. The battle-nun ripped her spear from the ground and wordlessly did what was asked of her.

"What's with you, huh? Going all tsun-tsun on me, Itsuwa?" Motoharu inquired, grinning like a child who had just succeeded in stealing a cookie from a forbidden jar.

"Pervert."

Itsuwa, fists clenched at her side, growled in frustration as she stomped off in the direction of the crevice. Motoharu tossed his head back and laughed, following not far behind.

By the time both groups reached the mouth of the crevice, Itsuwa's dark mood seemed to have passed, and, much to Motoharu's relief, she looked to be back to her usual self, if her facial expression was to be taken at face value. The emerald inferno had been entirely extinguished, and, as a result, everything around the two groups became considerably darker; in the mountainous hilltops of school district twenty-one, there were very few natural sources of light, and the light provided by the moon was minimal, as it had been mostly blocked by cloud coverage.

Patricia Birdway watched on, anticipation eating away at her, as the OFFICER Network's automatons formed a single file row, and began to awkwardly shuffle towards the crevice's entrance, hoses at the ready. Of the thirty-two automatons that had arrived to fight the flames in the early hours of the afternoon, only six remained standing, and even those that did had been badly charred, and had lost a fair amount of their outer armor.

As the right foot of the first in the line of machines touched the interior floor of the crevice, there was a loud, sudden, 'twang' in the distance – following shortly after, a blur, that was in fact an object, travelling faster than the human eye could possibly comprehend found its mark directly in the center of the automaton's head. Sparks jumped from the automaton's head, and most of its outer armor had been destroyed. In spite of this, the machine still seemed to function correctly.

"AGGRESSOR IDENTIFIED. ENGAGING ANTI-TERRORIST SUBROUTINES," the six OFFICER Network automatons proclaimed at once.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu heard them before he saw them; howling, snarling, skeletal hounds. An entire pack of the screaming, hellish things charged up from the trail from where Motoharu and his party had arrived from. From behind the Spymaster, Itsuwa, Beatrix, and Isaac took to his side.

"I wasn't being serious when I said I wanted to fight…" Itsuwa lamented.

"Yeah! This is your fault!" Motoharu exclaimed with a laugh, which surprised his companions. Motoharu took a step forward. He then turned his back to face his companions. "I've been waiting to beat up some of these God-forsaken, ugly things."

Two powerful, constant jets of water, accompanied by the quick, singular bursts of water fired by the OFFICER Network's automatons laid siege to the skies above Motoharu and company, and hampered the hounds' progress, but didn't stop or cause them any considerable harm.

"Uhh… what am I supposed to do?!" Patricia cried out, waving her arms frantically at her sister's eyes and ears. "I'm no magician! I don't even know how to fight! Guys, do something! Cast some spells!" Patricia commanded. Without so much as another word, the eyes and ears of Leivinia Birdway took to standing in front of their leader's sister, shoulder to shoulder, acting as a wall of flesh and bones that protected Patricia Birdway.

Motoharu and company made their move, then and there, wordlessly coming to the mutual decision that there was little other choice. "Fallere825… heh, déjà vu!" Motoharu exclaimed; empowered by his uttering of his Magic Name, the Backstabbing Blade's closed fist struck the skull of a skeletal hound, knocking it away, while Itsuwa swept her Friulian Spear through the forms of six of the beasts. Nearby, the battle-nun, Beatrix, and the Amakusan warrior, Isaac decimated the snarling, unliving creatures with their own weapons; Beatrix's enormous spear pummeled three of the beasts with a single thrust, while Isaac's sword crashed into one, and then another, shattering the bodies of both, one after the other.

From a mountainous peak, just beyond the group's collective fields of vision, came another 'twang', and a rapidly moving blur followed. Motoharu felt a sharp, sudden jolt of pain course through his body, as a foreign object pierced through the flesh and bone of the back of his shoulder, and emerged on the other side. Blood dripped, and then began to flow freely from the wound. Motoharu's fist connected with another hound's face, knocking it away from him; it gave the Backstabbing Blade enough time to crane his neck and get a look at just what had lodged itself into his body. It was a long, mostly black arrow, tipped with a dark, gnarled head that was stained with his blood.

"Tsuchimikado-san!" Itsuwa exclaimed in a frenzied state of panic; she crushed the skulls of the skeletal hounds she faced with her Friulian Spear, and, wide-eyed and panting, Itsuwa took Motoharu into her arms, and began to try and drag him away from the chaotic scene. Motoharu wouldn't budge, and freed himself from Itsuwa's embrace.

"Time and place, Itsuwa. Time and place. There's a coward among us, and I'm going to find them and jam their fucking arrow where the sun doesn't shine." Motoharu stated. With one swift, fluid motion that made Itsuwa jump, and caused her stomach to knot, the Spymaster of Necessarius yanked the arrow from his body. He winced as he did so, but didn't so much as utter a single grunt of discomfort. Itsuwa turned away momentarily to bash in the skull of a skeletal hound that had been attempting a pre-emptive strike on the two with her Friulian Spear, just as Beatrix and Isaac slew the remaining beasts.

All that remained of the pack of skeletal hounds were glowing piles of bones, shattered canine skulls, some decapitated, other shattered, and the heat that their bodies, even in "death" produced.

The encounter was anything but over; a conclusion hadn't truly been reached. Just as Motoharu, Itsuwa and their allies thought they could finally rest calm and form a plan of retreat, keeping Patricia Birdway's safety in mind, a forceful, thunderous crash shattered their illusions. The group turned back to face it, as Leivinia's eyes and ears formed a protective circle around Patricia.

Motoharu vocalized an interested "humph". Itsuwa started slightly, and Isaac's mouth opened, just an inch, before it proceeded to close again. Beatrix cocked her head to the side, and tightly gripped her great spear. Benjamin, who stood with the OFFICER Network's automatons, broke the relative silence that followed the crash.

"What… the?"

"Trespassers… my pack caught your scent. This day's cycle is one of great fortune, indeed!" proclaimed the strangely garbed individual who stood before the two groups.

"Are you a tourist? Are you lost? Need some help, you fucking weirdo?" Motoharu rhetorically inquired. He flashed the invader a grin. Before Motoharu and company stood the towering form of the Huntmaster, crossbow at the ready.

The Huntmaster raised his hand, and with a snap of his fingers, the defeated, broken skeletal hounds began to reform. Their rattling, creaking forms were made whole again, through the unseen works of some unholy magic. "Tally ho! The Hunt begins anew, trespassers!"

"Let's get 'em! Friendship powers, activate!" Motoharu exclaimed as he charged headlong at the Huntmaster. Itsuwa immediately shot off to follow him, and within mere moments, Beatrix and Isaac followed.

The Huntmaster, much to everyone's surprise, tossed his crossbow aside; the weapon was as heavy as it looked, and it didn't gain much momentum in the air before gravity's laws pulled it to the earth. Motoharu closed the distance between himself and his foe, and, empowered by Magic Name, swung his arm out in a right hook, which, to the Spymaster's distress, was caught by the gauntleted fist of the Huntmaster, who violently twisted the appendage in an unnatural direction. The bones of the Spymaster's arm loudly cracked in response, and Motoharu gritted his teeth and tightly closed his eyes as pain shot through his entire body; the Huntmaster tossed Motoharu away as if he were little more than trash.

With the OFFICER Network's androids focused on attempting to repel or otherwise destroy the skeletal hounds who harassed them, Itsuwa, Beatrix, Isaac, and Benjamin faced down this terrible foe.

Benjamin, who had witnessed the ease in which his Spymaster was defeated, proceeded to place his faith in a gambit. The older man took a deep breath, and prepared himself for what could very well be his death. Benjamin spread his legs, and lifted his hands; he closed his eyes, and began to concentrate as deeply as he could, attempting to disregard the battle cries and the sounds of metal clashing with metal all around him. The older man felt two globules of water form in the palms of his hands, and, as he opened his eyes, he forcefully expelled two jets towards the Huntmaster. The jets hit their mark, and though the Huntmaster was forced to tumble forward in shock, he quickly regained his footing.

"An excellent strike! Bravo! I commend your abilities, child of the Worldeater, but the hunter mustn't become the hunted! That's not part of the beauty of the Hunt!" The Huntmaster proclaimed. The ground beneath the Huntmaster shook as he leapt towards Benjamin. The Huntmaster was by no means as swift as a Saint, as his form could still be seen as he made his move, but his movements were fast; Benjamin had just enough time to jump to the side as the form of the Huntmaster crashed into the earth, where Benjamin had stood mere moments ago.

Motoharu had risen up, as he began to stuff his phone back into his back pocket, from where he had pulled it from, and, despite his twisted arm and bloodied, punctured shoulder, he moved towards the Huntmaster.

"Admirable; your will is to be respected. Regardless of the outcome of this Hunt, I wish for you to know that you are honorable prey! You fight with conviction I've not seen in hundreds of thousands of past suns and moons!" The Huntmaster proclaimed. He answered Motoharu's unvoiced challenged, and began to close the slowly shrinking distance between himself and the Spymaster of Necessarius.

Motoharu, though he was deep in the throes of pain, would never allow himself to show it. It hurt to walk; it hurt even more just to breathe, yet, he wouldn't collapse and fall over like some sort of dying animal. All Motoharu had to do was hold the Huntmaster at bay, and wait.

"Just a little bit… just need some time. Didn't expect this. Should've. Didn't. Don't know what's going on. Must find out."

Itsuwa, Beatrix, and Isaac ran over to, and again stood with their ally and Spymaster. Motoharu flashed the trio a grin, and gave a concerned-looking Benjamin, and the terrified-looking Patricia Birdway a thumbs up.

"We're gonna be okay. Just hold tight, hah? We need to keep this motherfucker busy until help arrives," Motoharu stated flatly.

"Help?" Itsuwa inquired, anxiety plain as day in her tone of voice. "Help from who?"

Motoharu chuckled, and stuffed his remaining functional arm's hand into one of the pockets of his sweatpants; the other twisted, likely broken arm hung limp at the Spymaster's side. "You'll see."

"I will hunt all of you at once, if that is what you wish. I fear not your bond, for all bonds can be broken, no matter how powerful. Though I admire your determination, it means not that I can spare you; you may flee and never return, and you will flee without your dignity, but, rather, your life… an admiral decision, in its own way." the Huntmaster spoke.

"Fuck off with that shit." Motoharu grumbled. The Huntmaster was mere inches away from Motoharu and his allies. Poised to strike, the Huntmaster became distracted, as did everyone in that area, with the exception of Motoharu, whose grin only widened as he casually stood in the figurative shadow of death.

From on high, loud, hysterical, psychotic laughter had become the soundtrack of the hellish battle that was unfolding. Motoharu tossed his head back and began to laugh along with it, as if to create a deranged choir. "Nice to see you too, old buddy! Fuck me, it's been too long!"

The Huntmaster turned from Motoharu and company, not out of fear, but out of curiosity. For the second time that night, the earth exploded as a monster made impact with it. The ground shook, and, as the smoke that resulted from the impact cleared, beneath the pale light of the moon, which beamed down through the cloud coverage as if to accent his entrance, a monstrous mass murderer, a taker of over ten thousand lives emerged, floating above the ground. Crimson red eyes stared down the Huntmaster, though the Huntmaster didn't shrink beneath them.

"What the fuck is this? More goddamn magic? I thought we were done with this fucking shit when we split Aleister's head open." Accelerator grumbled. Four twisting, gusting tornadoes emerged from his back, and formed a pair of grotesque 'wings'.

"New prey joins the Hunt?! Welcome, welcome! I bid you a thousand welcomes! You've missed out on little, the Hunt has only just begun!" The Huntmaster proclaimed. The Huntmaster thrust his arm outwards, gauntleted fingers pointing towards the mass murderer before him. Broken skeletal hounds, their bodies shattered by the automatons of the OFFICER Network, reformed, rose up, and charged towards the monster. As each touched him, their bodies were tossed away, their blows effortlessly reflected.

Accelerator began to giggle. His crimson eyes widened, and his lips curled into a sick, twisted grin. Baring his teeth, the ground exploded beneath Accelerator's floating form as he swiftly closed the distance between himself and the Huntmaster.

"Don't know who the fuck you are. Don't really care, either. But, I have to wonder… are you the one behind the attack in that fucking underground mall?" Accelerator demanded.

The Huntmaster cocked his helmeted head to one side. "Attack? Underground "mall"? I know not of what you speak. I have hunted the children of Beast666's Jewel, though their deaths were fair and honorable. They are prey, who have fallen in the Hunt; the most honorable of deaths."

Accelerator's grin widened as he began to float closer and closer towards the Huntmaster.

"Honorable deaths? You're a real fucking piece of shit, aren't you? I'll DESTROY that fucked up illusion of yours! I might not be the "top dog" of this City anymore, but you're NOTHING! You'll NEVER take another life! DIE!"

Accelerator touched the plated armor of the Huntmaster, and made contact with an all too familiar form of vector – a vector of magical origin. Though the vectors of this magic felt different – darker, and corrupted – they were magical in origin nonetheless. This was no trouble for Accelerator; long ago, he had mastered these vectors just as he did those in the realm of science. In an instant, the Huntmaster was sent flying at speeds beyond that of sound or light; Accelerator watched as his foe's form crashed into, and continued to crash through a nearby mountainous peak.

Accelerator landed inches away from Motoharu and company. The number one ranked esper crossed his skeletally thin arms across his equally malnourished-looking chest, an unimpressed, groggy look on his face.

"What the fuck did you get yourself into, Tsuchimikado, you goddamn idiot?" Accelerator demanded. "What the fuck was that? Who the fuck was that, and why the FUCK did you have to call ME to deal with it? Couldn't you crush that trash by yourselves?"

"Well, you see, not all of us can manipulate vectors and basically become invincible for a good part of a week, God-Emperor Accel-chan!" Motoharu exclaimed.

"Call me that again, and see what fucking happens to you." The monster warned.

"Guys! Hi, Accelerator, it's so nice to see you again! I've missed you! Guys, we need to go into that cave up there, still! We're not done yet!" Came the feverish, nervous voice of Patricia Birdway; she stuck her head out from behind the shoulders of two of her sister's eyes and ears, and waved. Accelerator made an annoyed clicking sound with his tongue in response.

"Another fucking brat? I put up with enough of them at home…"

Kamijou Touma finished the last remaining bits of warm, soft chicken that sat on his plate; he put down the fork that was held in his right hand. In his left, he held the hand of Kamijou Misaki, who seemed to only poke at her own food.

"I hope I threw everything together alright, beautiful. Does it taste okay?" Touma inquired. Misaki smiled at her husband and nodded.

"Of course. Your cooking is lovely, as usual, my sunshine. I am just not overly hungry tonight; maybe I will finish the rest tonight, or tomorrow. None will go to waste, I promise."

"No worries, it's no biggie; honest." Touma released Misaki's hand, softly pushed his chair back, and placed his empty dishes in their kitchen's sink; he took Misaki's mostly full plate, carefully wrapped it with shrink wrap in order to keep it fresh, and placed it in an available corner of their fridge. Once he had finished, Touma approached his wife, and knelt down before her. He took her hands, which had both found their way to her lap in his own, and smiled up at her as best as he could.

"We're going to make everything okay; but for now, I think we should distract ourselves from everything. There's not much we can do until Tsuchimikado decides to make his move, and I'm sure he's watching the situation carefully. Listen, gorgeous, you want to watch a movie or something? Cuddle up on the couch? I can put some popcorn in the microwave," Touma offered. Misaki couldn't help but smile down at her husband. The extent of his concern, and the depths of his patience and complete understanding of her feelings never failed to emotionally move her.

"Allowing myself to fall into a bout of depression is without reason, and will change nothing; as you say, there is not a lot we can do, not yet. I wish to do something, Touma, when the time comes, but that time is not now." Misaki rose up from her seat, and Touma got back up, rising to his full, imposing height.

"For now, I would love to watch a movie with you. Let me prepare a snack for you. You prepared our dinner, so it is only fair that I pull my weight, as well." Misaki said. She reluctantly let go of her husband's hands as she went about her business. Touma looked at her as she interacted with her surroundings. To Touma, there was something so graceful and natural about Misaki's movements; she wasn't even trying, yet Misaki practically danced from place to place; her elegance struck Touma, and, for a while he forgot that he was staring.

"Baby? Is everything okay?"

Misaki's voice snapped Touma back to reality. Touma chuckled awkwardly and stretched, placing his arms behind his head. "Yeah, I'm good. Just spaced out; weird stuff."

His wife rewarded him with another one of her beautiful, glowing smiles, and Touma responded with his own, before he moved himself to the couch of he and his wife's living room. He tossed himself down, body sinking into the soft, welcoming couch as a sigh escaped from his lips. He pulled out his phone, and noticed that he, in fact, seemed to be popular this evening; he had three unchecked messages. Touma unlocked his phone, and began to check the first message, which was from Mikoto.

"Hi Touma Ive got big news. We should get together me and Kuroko and you and Misaki!"

Touma wondered what the news could be, and smiled at the idea. "I'll have to talk to Misaki about it. If she's not feeling up to par, I'm not going to push her. Misaka will understand."

Touma proceeded to check the second message, which was sent by Accelerator. He opened the message, and began to read over it.

"Hero. We need to talk. Call me when you get the chance."

Touma would've been lying to himself if he said, to himself or to his wife, that Accelerator's ominous demand didn't unnerve him.

The third, and final message, was sent by Musujime Awaki, which surprised Touma; Awaki only contacted Touma infrequently.

"Hey. Ive been hearing a lot of chatter about robots and killings. I dont involve myself in current events but i though you should know. Keep your eyes open. Stay safe.

-MA"

"Robots and killings, huh? Yeah, that's about it, Musujime-san. If it's not Kiharas, it's robots made by Kiharas, and if it's not robots made by Kiharas, it's terrorists."

Touma proceeded to respond accordingly to each as best as he could. A part of him wanted to call Accelerator, but his wife was already in enough distress to begin with. Touma debated on keeping Accelerator's demands to himself, but, in the end, the prospect of coming clean to Misaki won out.

Touma heard the three short, loud beeps that the microwave produced to let its user(s) know that it had finished with the task it had been assigned, followed by the sound of the microwave door being gently opened. Misaki emerged from the kitchen, with a large ceramic plate, on which the bag of freshly popped popcorn sat, steam rising from the bag's opening.

Misaki approached Touma, placed the plate next to him on the couch, and then leaned in towards him. Touma welcomed his wife's affection; Misaki's eyelids closed, and she pecked him on the lips. Misaki, slowly and gently, pulled away from her husband, and ruffled his hair before she moved to, and then obtained a nearby TV tray. Misaki carefully unfolded the wooden contraption, and placed it in front of their couch. Touma moved the warm, but thankfully not hot ceramic plate onto the tray as Misaki plopped down next to him. She cuddled up to her husband, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Hey, beautiful? Accelerator sent me this. Take a look?" Touma inquired, holding up his locked smartphone. Misaki reached over and gently took the device from him, unlocked it, and scrolled down to Accelerator's message. Her brow distinctively furrowed, and she sighed deeply.

"No rest for the wicked it seems, my sunshine." Misaki lamented before she rested her head in her husband's lap. "I do not know why Accelerator feels the need to speak so cryptically. If something is wrong, he should say so outright."

Touma began to play with his wife's blonde locks. "Musujime-san texted me, too. It was probably a coincidence, but I know she has a history with Accelerator, so… I dunno. Maybe we should call him? If it could be important. He usually doesn't text unless something's going down."

Misaki nodded as she took a singular deep breath, and then exhaled, but said nothing. She nuzzled Touma, cuddling as closely as she could to his body, her arms still wrapped around her husband's waist. With his right hand, he continued to play with Misaki's hair, which seemed to comfort her, and with his left, he pressed the "call" button on Accelerator's contact profile.

Touma's phone connected the call, and it rang a couple of times, before his call was answered. Accelerator's voice didn't immediately answer, but he could hear the voices of Last Order and Worst; as well, Touma could hear the monotone ramblings of the ten thousandth and thirty-second clone of Misaka Mikoto, whom he had long ago christened "Misaka Imouto". The reception on the other end clicked once, then twice, before Accelerator's voice spoke on the other end.

"Touma… hey."

Touma was visibly surprised, as Misaki noticed. Accelerator rarely ever referred to Touma by his first name, and, immediately, Touma's feeling that something was wrong grew. Touma put his call on speakerphone.

"Accelerator? What's up, man? It's been… man, it's been a long time; is something wrong? I got your text, and you seemed pretty urgent, it least in the way you worded it."

Touma waited patiently for a few moments as a small grin formed on his face; he heard the sounds of Accelerator chastising Worst. Sooner than later, Accelerator's irritated voice returned. Misaki giggled quietly as she allowed her eyes to close.

"Fucking brats… not gonna keep you any longer than I have to, hero. That fucking dumbass Tsuchimikado picked a fight with a big, fucked up looking guy. Armor had fucked up magic vectors. Tsuchimikado thinks it was the guy, or one of multiple guys responsible for blowing up the underground mall." Accelerator explained.

Touma and Misaki, whose eyes had re-opened as quickly as she had closed them, looked at one another, both equally concerned. Misaki's arms tightened around her husband's waist.

"Did you…?"

"Threw him into a fucking mountain, but still, probably not. These magic people don't die easy, if history's any fucking indication. I'm personally invested in this goddamn shit, now. If it was just me the bastard tried to blow up, I wouldn't give a shit, but, he tried to harm the brats. As much as they fucking annoy me…"

Accelerator's voice dropped in volume, and the "top dog" of Academy City began to sound meek and, in a way that seemed strange and unsettling to the Kamijous, almost vulnerable. The shouting voice of Last Order, which was yelling at Worst, who laughed madly in response, could be heard in the background.

"I fucking love them. That's it. I fucking love them both so goddamn much. Last Order, that fucking bitch Worst, the annoying one that's here with the black cat, that irritating, dumbass necromancer, Yomikawa and Yoshikawa, I love them all, and I'm not going to fucking sit around and wait for something to destroy what I love. I don't know what you've been thinking about, hero, but you should get the fuck out of this place. Take the fifth ranked and get the fuck out, by any means necessary."

"There are people Touma and I care deeply about, Accelerator. We cannot just leave them behind." Misaki stated. Upon hearing Misaki's voice, Accelerator clicked his tongue in irritation.

"I thought it was just us talking, stupid hero… figures your wife wouldn't be far. Who are you worried about? That fucking third ranked? She'll be fine. Everybody you know can take care of themselves. We're not dumbass kids anymore." Accelerator stated flatly.

"Hey, Accelerator. Listen. We need to bring it together sometime soon, buddy. Is that all you wanted to tell me?" Touma inquired.

"Yeah. Tsuchimikado told me you wanted to be in the know about this shit, apparently he's too busy getting himself into fucking trouble to call you himself." Accelerator responded with an uninterested, or perhaps fatigued yawn.

"Thanks. Take it easy, man. Nice to talk to you again, even if what we're talking about isn't the most positive thing."

"Tch. Whatever. G'night, hero, fifth ranked." Accelerator grumbled before his call disconnected.

"Let us get into a movie, baby… I want to escape more than ever. The Kiharas, and now the Magic Side? Touma, why can't we… why can't everyone just be left alone? Why do these things have to happen?" Misaki asked, desperation evident in her tone of voice.

Touma let his phone drop onto the couch, unconcerned about its fate. He cupped his wife's face in the palm of his left hand, and gently ran his fingers along her cheek. Misaki removed her arms, and placed her own hand on her husband's hand.

"I can't answer that. I just don't have an answer for you. I wish I did, but I don't, beautiful. What I do know is, I'm getting tired of running. How long can we really run from everything that wants to drag us down?" Touma asked rhetorically; he didn't expect an answer, at least not a completely accurate one. Touma didn't know who exactly he was even asking.

Misaki rolled onto her back, and propped herself up on Touma's tree trunk-like legs. She placed a nearby cushion beneath her head, and rested it against the arm of the couch, directly next to her husband. Misaki took Touma's hand in her own, their fingers interlocking instantly. She looked up at him, and offered him a thin, but warm smile.

"I do not wish to continue to struggle to run either, my sunshine, but… I want to find peace for us more than anything. What if peace waits in the process of finding a way to fix this City, somehow, rather than running away from it? If peace is not to be found here, how do we convince our loved ones to flee with us? If they refuse, will we remain bound to them? Will we die with them? There is so much to consider, too much." Misaki spoke.

"We haven't really talked to anyone about it, beautiful, but I think we might need to. I think we need to discuss our options as a group. I think we need to get everyone…" Touma suddenly stopped mid-sentence, and looked up; though his eyes appeared to be focused on the wall above the television in front of them, Kamijou Touma saw directly through the wall, and out into the world beyond. Perhaps not literally, but figuratively; his mind's eye widened, and he visualized the remnants of Academy City that laid just outside of the walls of he and his wife's paradise.

"Kamijou Misaki, how would you respond if I suggested that we might just need to get the Legion back together?"

Misaki remained silent for a few moments, as her own hand tightened in her husband's. She thought back to the desperate events of the Fall of the Director, in which the "Academy City Liberation Legion" had been formed. They had been a force to be reckoned with then, and they very likely could be again.

"I do not know what I would say. I think I would foolishly attempt to find some way to avoid open and brutal conflict, even if open and brutal conflict was the only answer we would have. We would have nowhere near the numbers we had on that fateful day, my love. In the same way that we have, many of our friends have tried their best to move on since those dark days, even if very few things have changed." Misaki admitted.

Touma gave a confident nod, and made a motion with his hands; he requested for Misaki to lean up towards him. Misaki did so, and Touma pecked his wife on the lips. Touma supported his wife's weight with his left arm, allowing her to comfortably use his lap as if it were a chair. Touma looked into his wife's eyes as she lovingly wrapped her arms around his upper torso.

"It was just a stupid thought, gorgeous. We'll figure something out. Like we've said a million times, as long as we're together, nothing can stop us. We're the perfect team, you and me." Touma said with a smile.

Misaki smiled back up at her husband, not just believing, but knowing in her heart of hearts that what he said was true.

"Touma, the keeper of my beating heart, my soul mate, we will find the peaceful world that we desire. I will protect you, as you have always protected me."

Kamijou Misaki rested her head on her beloved husband's shoulder as he reached to the other side of the couch with his available right arm, grasped the controller for their gaming console, turned the device on, and opened their preferred streaming app. For the time being, the married couple would lose themselves and leave behind their uncertainties, not only in one another's arms, but in another world, with its own problems that would, when the credits rolled, find themselves solved.

September 22nd, 2014. 3:42 PM.

Shadowed by his traveling companion Itsuwa, Tsuchimikado Motoharu walked up to, and held open the first of four thick, heavily vandalized metallic doors which lead into a tall, rectangular, structure, cobbled together with rusted metal and dusty, cracked glass windows, the highest rows of which were covered by rows of shuttered blinds. The structure was four stories in height, and was wide enough to fit two to three homes of average size on each of its four stories. Motoharu ushered the concerned-looking Itsuwa in, visibly refraining from groping her rear, and stepped inside, letting the door slam shut behind him as it creaked in complaint.

Motoharu and Itsuwa found themselves in a dingy-looking, barren room. It was wide and spacious, almost absurdly so; this was amplified by the fact that there was virtually no furniture, save for a rusted, empty metallic receptionist's desk in the right hand corner of the room. The metallic, sterile-looking walls were covered in splatters of long-since dried white paint, and the chipped, mostly broken silver and white tiled floors faired little better. Rows of light fixtures, all of which seemed to function properly, beamed down on the two.

"Is this really where the Director operates from…?" Itsuwa asked, bewilderment evident in her tone of voice. The young woman moved her head slowly from left to right, and then blinked a couple of times, as if to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

"Well, the Windowless Building is… it's kind of completely fucked! Like, capoosh! Done! Network won't even let anyone get near the ruins, dunno if the Director's an exception. I've tried, and, heck, even if I don't have the scars to show it because of my ability, you'll have to take my word for it." Motoharu stated. "We'll have to take the stairs; elevator doesn't work. Used to, but, I guess when you're trying to keep a dying city-state from succumbing to its wounds, you've got your work cut out for you."

Itsuwa groaned and begrudgingly nodded in response. "After last night's "excitement", I wish I could just rest. I want to read on my phone and lay in bed and do noootthhiinnggg. Ugh."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Itsuwa climbed the four treacherous, smooth concrete flights of stairs; though it was a challenge for neither magician, it was, of course, much less convenient than taking an elevator. By the time the duo reached the final step of the final flight, both were breathing more heavily than they normally would've been. Motoharu approached a metallic door adjacent to them, and pulled it open. He motioned for Itsuwa to go through first, and then entered behind her, letting the door swiftly shut behind him.

The room the duo found themselves in would've been pitch dark, if not for the multitudes of glowing screens that bathed the spacious room in bluish-white light. There were wide, tall computer monitors in each of the upper hand corners of the room, and on the room's concrete, semi-carpeted floor, there were long, metallic tables, which had row after row of monitors, all of which had a stern-faced individual behind them. Each individual seemed to perform some task of unknown cause and effect, though all of their eyes ran from one side of their respective screen to the other, and many of their fingers clacked away on keyboards, or pressed down on the plastic buttons of mice.

On the right hand side of the dimly lit room sat another door, which was crafted from beautiful, finely cut wood of a light brown color. Four panels of glass sat in the door's center, and the light that illuminated the room within shined through the panels, bathing the floor just outside of the door in golden light. Tsuchimikado approached, and rapped loudly on the door. Itsuwa had no idea as to why, but his lips had curled into a wide, toothy grin.

"Oh? Company? Please, come in. You've arrived earlier than I originally expected!" came a jovial, singsong female voice.

"Don't mind if I do… ol' friend." Motoharu chuckled. His hand fell to the ornate glass doorknob; with a flick of his wrist, Motoharu flung the door inwards. The Backstabbing Blade stepped in, still grinning widely. Itsuwa reluctantly followed, willing her legs to move.

The two were immediately faced with a grand total of eight enormous, Gatling gun-wielding HsPS-15 Powered Suits, the barrels of said Gatling guns being pointed directly at the duo's abdomens. Itsuwa seized up, and instincts demanded that she produce her Friulian Spear, which had been disassembled and carefully placed into her purse. Regardless of whether or not it had been disassembled, she could have the weapon battle-ready in a flash, if need be.

Motoharu was much less concerned than his travelling companion. He noticed that the Director's room had been given a makeover since his last visit; a circular, bright red desk, which looked to be much newer than anything else in the building, sat in the room's center. The desk was surrounded by wide computer monitors and more than one large, glowing, tower, each of which had visible water-cooling units attached, as well as multiple outer fans that continuously blew icy cool air down onto, as well as into the machines. In front of the desk, where the wall of monitors parted, there were a series of luxurious-looking metallic chairs; each had thick, comfortable-looking padded cushions and backrests. In each of the room's upper corners, there were a series of large speakers; Motoharu correctly assumed that they were used to transmit the dreaded Capacity Down frequency.

Sitting in the center of the circular desk, leaning back in an enormous, luxurious-looking throne, arms crossed beneath her rather impressive bosom was the Director of Academy City. She had her long, slender, beautiful and, to Motoharu at least, extremely delectable legs crossed over the available space on her desk. The Director's black, shining high heeled shoes dangled loosely from her toes. Long, dark, straight hair fell well past her back, and nearly touched the floor. The Director wore a skin-tight suit, made up of a button-up dress shirt and a knee-length skirt, both of which were white in color.

Academy City's Director raised one of her eyebrows quizzically, as her lips curled into a devious smirk – Motoharu's eyes didn't seem to know exactly where they wanted to focus.

"My eyes are up here, Tsuchimikado." The Director stated flatly.

"Don't really give a flyin' fuck about your eyes. It's the rest of you I'm interested in." Motoharu responded. He raised his hand, and clasped his chin thoughtfully as he raised his eyebrows. "This meeting can go one of two ways. It can go the boring way, or it can go the extremely interesting and pleasurable way. How do you want to do this?" The Backstabbing Blade inquired.

"We'll do this the "shut up and I won't have you killed" way, Tsuchimikado." The Director retorted.

"Still as unobtainable as ever, Kumokawa Seria. There's a reason all the boys in school called you "Beauty-Senpai". Of course, nobody ever got to take you out for a spin! What a shame!" Motoharu exclaimed with a chuckle. Itsuwa was utterly bewildered; the Spymaster of Necessarius, someone of high ranking from their side, seemed to be completely chummy with the leader of the Other Side.

"Wasn't there something you needed to tell me, Tsuchimikado? Something rather urgent? I would slit my own throat before I laid on my back and let you have your way with me. Disgusting pig." The Director spat.

Motoharu gasped, raising his hands to his cheeks. "I'm offended, Beauty-Senpai! I'll have you know I'm grade A husband material!"

The Spymaster of Necessarius let his arms fall to his chest, as he crossed them. His grin faded, and he approached the Director's circular desk. He motioned for Itsuwa to follow, but she simply raised her hand, as if to say "I'm good." Motoharu shrugged, pulled out one of the chairs in front of the desk, plopped down, and sank into the soft material that made up the chair's backrest and cushion.

"So, listen up, doll. Some unfriendly Magic Side villain types are here, in Academy City, right now. Accel-chan popped one of them off last night, hurled him off into the nonliteral sunset. He might've been the sole perp, but he also could be one member of a cabal. I've got a suspicion that they've, or he's, been responsible for the attacks around the City.

"Patricia Birdway, the lovely sister of the totally-not-a-psychopathic-megalomaniac Leivinia Birdway took some samples from what appeared to be a campsite of sorts. The weirdo called my forces and I "trespassers", so I think it's safe to assume he was camping out there, told me she's going to get back to me when her weird old men find "conclusive results".

Academy City's Director raised an eyebrow and scowled. "Thank you so much for the newsflash, Tsuchimikado. What exactly do you expect me to do about it? The OFFICER Network is a flawed, easily hijacked mess, and when the Kiharas aren't fucking with us by hijacking the Network, they're stealing children and adults alike right from the streets, Academy City's pretty much under martial law, and I'm up to my eyeballs in problems that either can't be, or won't be solved. Doesn't this fall to you?"

Motoharu chuckled, and placed his arms on the desk. "It is, and I'm not trying to pawn problems off on you. I'm going to take care of this magical problem of ours, but, if I'm going to help you, you're going to help me. I can't deal with GROWTH, or the Academy City Chainsaw Massacre family, if I'm going to be focusing on dealing with this magical invasion. GROWTH is important. You kill GROWTH, you kill the gangs, and if you kill the gangs, that's one less crippling problem this City has to face. The gangs peddle GROWTH, it's their fucking lifeblood.

"Now, now. Hear me out. I have an idea; don't rely on the OFFICER Network. Scrap the Network and kill the Will, or turn it off, or whatever, I say. Rely on the level fives. Get them working together, somehow. I've never been too great at this diplomacy shit, but trust me; sic the level fives on the GROWTH distributors, and have them find and take down the people cooking the shit up."

The Director of Academy City removed her legs from her desk, slipped her high heels fully back onto her feet, and stood up, hands pressed against the desk's cold, metallic surface.

"I've thought about it, Tsuchimikado, but I've been reluctant; one of the most useful of all the level fives in a situation like the one that's presented itself to us would be Mental Out, but Mental Out is… she isn't expendable." The Director stated. For a split second, her cold, calculating demeanor seemed to slip, and something softer surfaced.

"Don't let your judgment be clouded by emotion, Kumokawa. I know exactly what you're thinking. Play your cards right, and everything'll turn out fine. Besides, it's not like our mutual benefactor won't be too far behind, right?" Motoharu rhetorically inquired with a grin.

Motoharu's grin faded when the Director circled around her desk, high heels clicking against the tiled floors, and proceeded to stand tall, mere inches away from his face. The Spymaster of Necessarius and the Director of Academy City were approximately the same height, though, in the moment, the Director of Academy City took on a deeply intimidating and openly threatening presence.

"Not a single scratch will come to either of them. Kamijou Misaki and Kamijou Touma are under my protection, and they always will be. Nothing will take Kamijou Touma's happiness away from him. That man has suffered too much already."

"Okay, okay! Alright! Relax, doll! Do we have a deal? You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours?" Motoharu pried. He didn't fear Academy City's Director personally; he had bested her before, and he could best her again, at least in single combat. He was much more concerned with the Gatling gun-wielding Powered Suits that could turn him into a pile of shredded meat.

The Director of Academy City gave a sigh, and stepped back a few feet, arms crossed beneath her bosom. "I do things my way. You stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours. If these terms and conditions are acceptable to you, then we indeed have a deal."

Motoharu extended his hand. "Let's shake on it, Beauty-Senpai. C'mon, for old times, don't leave me hanging!"

The Director of Academy City shuddered, but shook the hand of the Spymaster of Necessarius. She quickly pulled away, and rubbed her hands against her bare legs, as if to dust off some invisible contagion from them. Motoharu clicked his tongue in annoyance, turned back, and motioned for his awkwardly silent traveling companion to shadow him once again. As the door closed behind them, Kumokawa Seria, the Director of Academy City returned to her duties, and her lips curved into a frown.

"I'm sorry, Kamijou Misaki, and especially to you, Kamijou Touma. I wish there was more I could do. I wish I could see you both to safety. I regret that I have to use you like pawns, and play you against my enemies… all of you. Forgive me. I will do all that I can to help you, even if I'm on a leash, even if the odds are stacked against me. I will always love you, Kamijou Touma, and… Kamijou Misaki, forgive me for my past actions and words. I will right my wrongs, even if I must make new wrongs before I can right old ones. I will protect your life together."


	21. A Certain End

September 22nd, 2014. 6:08 PM.

Tessou Tsuzuri, a groggy-looking Shirai Kuroko, an equally tired-looking Misaka Mikoto, and Tsuzuri's squadron of brave men and women cast a series of shadows over the ruined streets of the walled-off zone known as "the Strange", in school district ten. The Strange, guarded by thin, flimsy walls of rusted metal and abandoned blocks of concrete, was a one-hundred-mile-wide, and seventy-seven-mile-long reprieve from the seemingly senseless, gang-related violence that plagued school district ten. Protected by a resurrected and Anti Skill-allied Big Spider, one could walk the streets of the Strange in peace, and relative safety.

"There's stuff out here, that's for sure, but none of it's out of the ordinary – metal chairs, beds frames, alarm clocks… codpieces… for some reason." The Railgun mumbled.

As Kuroko was about to suggest leaving the relative, if tenuous safety of the Strange to look elsewhere, Mikoto held up a hand, and stopped in her tracks, her trainers skidding against pebbles and broken chunks of concrete. She was ahead of her girlfriend. "Three blocks ahead, outside the walls. Guns. Lots of them, a whole stockpile." Mikoto spoke, as calmly and as collectedly as she could.

"Then we should take our leave. We've likely already overstayed our welcome; the residents of the Strange won't openly attack us, but they don't like us all that much, either." Tsuzuri explained.

As the group made their way towards the Strange's northernmost gate, which was, in fact, nothing more than two rusted, dented sheets of metal that had the wheels of supermarket carts welded onto them, Mikoto made note of the urban decay that continued to plague the Strange. Bombed-out buildings, their windows purposefully smashed or, perhaps accidentally broken, lined the streets. Pseudo-motivational graffiti promoting Big Spider's various ironic anti-gang philosophies covered almost every surface – not even the ground beneath the group's feet had been spared.

At the northernmost gate, Tessou Tsuzuri produced a badge from a nearly invisible compartment, located in the center of her Kevlar armor's chestplate, and flashed it to two of the eight fighters who had, much to their disgruntlement, been placed on watch duty. The fighter Tsuzuri had approached looked at it momentarily, then turned his attention back to Tsuzuri, and nodded in satisfaction. The fighters, who wore what Tsuzuri and her troops recognized to be pre-Fall Anti Skill battle-gear, which consisted of armored, dark blue slacks, an armored, long-sleeved top, a bulletproof vest, and a full-faced bulletproof helmet, stepped aside, and allowed the group of "allies" to pass through the gate. A high-powered sniper rifle, which hung from the upper window of the adjacent ruined structure trailed their movements.

"For Academy City. For Wataru." The fighter stated. Tessou Tsuzuri nodded in affirmation, and lead her group through the gate.

The gate had closed behind the group, and, in a few minutes' time, they had done their best to get as far away from the Strange as they possibly could.

"Is it just me, or does it almost feel safer out here? That atmosphere was… so oppressive." Mikoto stated, electromaster senses still tingling as she continued to track her quarry.

"Hardly, Onee-Sa— Mikoto, at least the people in the Strange just shoot you with dirty looks. Out here, we'll be stupidly lucky if we don't end up in a full-on firefight." Kuroko responded, eyes darting from side to side, as she tightly grasped one of her daggers.

"Thanks again for your co-operation, Misaka-san. There're few people in Academy City who're willing to enter the unsafe districts, unless they're looking to conduct illegal business, of course. Network's been catching a lot of slavers, kidnappers, those types… when it's working properly, that is." Tsuzuri rambled.

"No way was I going to let Officer Shirai here face danger without me." Mikoto said, offering her girlfriend a loving gaze. Kuroko internally swooned, but wouldn't allow herself to lose focus on her task at hand. Outwardly, Shirai Kuroko was stern and collected.

Paradise was lost. Like a crash of thunder, it came suddenly and without warning; Tsuzuri and her group recognized the scene immediately. A band of Skill Out hoodlums, dressed in little more than ordinary streetwear, some even completely naked, fled from the doors of a run-down, crumbling convenience store. The OFFICER Network, whose robotic officers were blasting away at the criminals with their solar-powered weaponry weren't far behind. One officer stopped in place, turned to face the Anti Skill troopers as well as the third ranked level five esper, and approached, peering down the sights of its rifle.

"ANTI SKILL AMBASSADORS, CIVILIAN. HALT."

Tension returned with a triumphant boom. Mikoto spun on her heel, electricity jumping from her form. Kuroko was poised to teleport at a moment's notice, and the Anti Skill troopers lifted their weapons to the source of the vocalization.

"I AM LAW_ENFORCER-20829: SCHOOL DISTRICT TEN IS UNDER OFFICER NETWORK JURISDICTION. CONTINUED INTERFERENCE IN OFFICER NETWORK AFFAIRS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE ENGAGEMENT OF ORGANIC MATTER INCINERATION SUBROUTINE." The automaton stated flatly. It moved its rifle from person to person, its singular eye moving rapidly in its head.

"Fuck yourself, "officer."

A stream of bullets that connected directly with the robotic officer's "eye" was fired by Tessou Tsuzuri. Each individual bullet that clanged and clanked against the officer's metallic head pushed it back a step or two. Tsuzuri only released the trigger once the automaton's head was completely destroyed, left as little more than a twisted hunk of broken metal. Unable to see, the android stumbled about, firing its solar-powered rifle wildly.

"W-what have you…" Kuroko mumbled, her eyes wide.

"Sticking it to the man, or the lack thereof! I'm sick and tired of being bullied by the Network!" Tsuzuri exclaimed, frustration in her voice. Moments later, however, Tessou Tsuzuri's body language, or what could be seen of it through the movements of her Kevlar armor, became much less confident. "We need to run; damned thing's probably already sent out a distress signal to the rest of the Network."

And so the group ran. Kuroko's face turned from shock to scorn as she took the lead, Mikoto not far behind her. "Where's that stockpile of guns, Mikoto? I think my people are going to need them. My superior's fucked us all," Kuroko growled between quick breaths. "I'm in no position to question my superior, but I know a major fuck-up when I see one."

"Follow," Mikoto panted; using her ability, the Railgun magnetically reached out, and, using nearby buildings as leverage, lifted herself from the ground. Electricity crackled and leapt from her form, causing the lights in what few buildings that actually had electricity to flicker. Kuroko teleported ahead to follow her girlfriend, determined to ensure her beloved's protection.

Mikoto arrived a few meters ahead of her Anti Skill allies at their destination; it was a mostly ruined, charred four-story structure, which looked to have been hastily cobbled together with a corroded metallic frame and brown bricks, some of which had fallen from the structure itself to the concrete below. Misaka Mikoto dropped to the ground, and again reached out with her ability – the OFFICER Network was sending drones towards their position, as well as an entire contingent of robotic officers. Pained screams, which Mikoto assumed to belong to one or more of the previously fleeing Skill Out hoodlums rang out, accompanied by the rattling of assault rifles and the distinctive sounds of the Network's solar-powered weapons' blasts.

Not having the time to fiddle with the lock of the door, but not wanting to rip it from its hinges, Mikoto began to ponder.

"I can see inside; there's a broken window. Just give me one second…" Kuroko mumbled. She focused on the interior of the structure, which was indeed visible from a window frame on the structure's third story. One second, Kuroko stood next to her girlfriend; the next, she was gone.

"M-Misaka-san!" The anxious, panting voice of Tessou Tsuzuri exclaimed. "W-where's Officer Shirai?!"

Mikoto pointed to the structure in front of them, and motioned to it by tilting her head. "Teleported inside. I didn't 'feel' anyone inside, and if there are people in there, they're not armed or armored. Door's locked, and I'd rather not expose us by destroying it," The Railgun explained. She crossed her arms, and sighed in frustration. What Tsuzuri had done really irked the former Ace of Tokiwadai, as well.

A few minutes of tension-filled waiting had passed, and Mikoto had finished her most recent magnetic scan of she and her Anti Skill allies' surroundings. Relative silence had since descended, and that meant that the Network was dangerously close to surrounding them. The Railgun began to prepare herself for a Hellish and bloody battle to the end in defense of her girlfriend, when the door of the ruined structure before her slowly opened. Misaka Mikoto turned to face Shirai Kuroko; the Railgun's heart jumped into her throat when she laid eyes on the normally confident and outgoing teleporter. She looked haunted; her eyes were wide, and her lips had parted slightly. Kuroko's pupils had shrunk, in contrast with her widened eyelids.

"We… we aren't the f-first ones to get here…"

Tessou Tsuzuri, along with her troopers, piled into the ruined structure, forcing Kuroko to stumble out of the way. Mikoto swiftly entered, closed the door behind her, and took Kuroko into an embrace.

"Kuroko? What did you see? There's something messed up in here; you're not easily shaken up, at least not like… this."

Kuroko let her head fall against her girlfriend's shoulder. Mikoto felt her beloved teleporter's body shudder in her arms.

"Don't want to see it again. Horrible."

Mikoto began to slowly, and gently move both herself and her traumatized partner, one foot at a time. She wrapped Kuroko's arm around her shoulders, and helped the teleporter walk as her legs shook. "We need to get away from that door; I'm going to take us deeper into this place, just a little bit. Close your eyes, and be strong, okay, Kuroko? I love you. You can do this."

Kuroko smiled weakly, and closed her eyes shut, as tightly as she physically could. "I love you too, Mikoto."

Mikoto couldn't be certain as to what this building had once been used for; it could've been anything. In the present, what looked to have once been a lobby of sorts had been furnished with torn, rotting old furniture – ripped couches, which surely contained a variety of disgusting insectoid lifeforms, ragged, faded carpets, and broken dressers cluttered the area. The floors were littered with refuse; outdated, extremely faded front pages of newspapers, used condoms, which the Railgun strategically had both herself and her girlfriend avoid, wads of tissues which were smeared and crusted over with old, browned blood, and torn pages of lewd magazines were among the debris. Stepping through the "lobby" and through a narrow, unlit hallway, Mikoto took her first, and final step into a much larger room. The Railgun gasped, and fought back the urge to upchuck.

There were bodies; broken, mangled bodies. Some where tossed about like ragdolls, their limbs splayed out, others looked to have had their necks violently snapped. Some were impaled on the white, sterile-looking, and blood-smeared walls of the large room; bloodied firearms were forced through their torsos. At one of many broken down metallic tables in the center of the large room, bodies laid in heaps on ripped, dirtied sofa chairs. The bodies of these once-living people lacked their heads, except for one, who had the phrase "IM WITH STUPID" written on the forehead of their helmet in a sticky-looking, bright orange substance.

"Deadlock." Tessou Tsuzuri commented, pointing to a torn flag that hung on the southernmost wall of the large room; the flag was long, black and purple trimmed, with an enormous, purple letter 'D' in the center; the image of a thick-bladed curved sword punctured the top of the letter 'D', and exited through its bottom. Behind the brutish emblem was the image of a purple, featureless padlock. "Armor's a dead giveaway; none of those Diver suits, though. These people weren't high-ranking members, just peons. Looks like they got under the skin of the wrong person… corpses are fairly old… or, at least, they're certainly not fresh. That stink… no, someone got here way ahead of us."

Mikoto shuddered, and turned both herself and her girlfriend away from the carnage. "You can open your eyes now, Kuroko. Just don't look back."

Kuroko gripped Mikoto's hand in her own, and slowly opened her eyes, as she cringed. "That fucked me up. I've seen some ugly scenes, but this is… horrible. Who would do this? How could someone do this to other people? This is…" Kuroko trailed off as her lips curled downwards, into a frown.

"Someone didn't do this; something did this." Kuroko, continuing to face the door, cleared her throat. "Tessou-san, as of this moment, I don't care whether or not you're my superior; this mission's a bust. I'm getting as many people as I can out of this place. There's going to be Hell to pay, the Network's going to be freaking out for the next week. Great job," The teleporter snapped in frustration. "Mikoto, remind me to send someone here to clear out the stockpile of firearms, please and thank you? I'd do it here and now, but… we don't really have time to give this place a thorough exploration."

The Railgun gave a nod, as her facial expression turned to one of concern. Mikoto's look of concern turned to that of horror as the door of the structure, some fifty feet behind her, began to shake. It endured blow after forceful blow, as the sounds of the weapons wielded by the OFFICER Network's robotic officers rang out. Swiftly moving, painfully bright blasts of deadly hot solar energy surged through destroyed window frames, and the sounds of what Mikoto recognized to be the laser beams fired by drones worked tirelessly to destroy the outer walls of the structure.

Kuroko turned towards the carnage, took a deep breath, and entered the large room. She grasped the forms of two of her armored fellow officers, and vanished. Some seconds later, she returned, and continued to repeat this process until only herself, Mikoto, and her superior, Tessou Tsuzuri remained. An inconsistent headache formed in Kuroko's head; as she took her girlfriend's hand in her own, and begrudgingly grasped the armored wrist of her superior, the trio disappeared, leaving the defiled, ruined structure behind.

The OFFICER Network stormed the structure as its first floor's outer walls crashed down; this triggered a domino effect. As the first floor collapsed into smouldering ruins, the rest of the structure, finding itself unsupported, followed soon after. Even as the structure the automatons found themselves in fell apart around them, they did not relent until their bodies, and the bodies of the Deadlock squadron that had perished there were crushed under hundreds of tons of rubble.

Misaka Mikoto, Shirai Kuroko, and Tessou Tsuzuri exited the eleventh dimension; Mikoto and Tsuzuri unceremoniously stumbled into the lobby of Anti Skill's school district seven headquarters. Kuroko walked with more elegance, but her face betrayed her unease, as well as her quickening fatigue.

After a few seconds of silence, Tessou Tsuzuri swiftly left the room, leaving the awkward, darkening atmosphere behind to pursue her own agenda. Mikoto and her angered girlfriend were left to their own devices.

"Mikoto, if you get wrapped up in this, I'm sorry. Just let me know if the Network comes pounding on your door, and I'll take care of everything. Stupid… ugh." Kuroko grumbled.

The Railgun crossed her arms beneath her bosom, and sighed, as her frown deepened.

"I understand where Tessou-san is coming from, Mikoto. I don't like the Network either, but you can't just shoot them. They're stronger than us, they have better tech than us… I don't even know why we exist, if the Network can handle everything." The teleporter ranted.

"I don't know what to tell you, Kuroko. If there was something, anymore more we could do…"

"I'm so sick and tired of hearing that! Not from you specifically, but just in general!" Kuroko interrupted. "I'm sick of running, and I'm sick of hiding. I'm sick of being a prisoner in my own home. I'm sick of watching Academy City fall apart around us. I'm sick of everyone trying to pretend that everything's okay, when it's really not!"

Mikoto took her girlfriend into an embrace, one which the teleporter welcomed. "We'll do something, Kuroko. We'll find a way to make this right. It might not happen today, and it might not happen in a week… but we'll find a way to fix this place we're struggling to call home. I'm not just saying that. If you work with me, if we work together, with everyone else, we'll make things right… for now, I think we should talk to some other people who are great at making things right."

Kuroko looked up to her precious, adored Onee-Sama, as if to silently inquire as to who she was referring to.

Mikoto smiled thinly at her girlfriend. "I've come far enough to know that trying to fix things by myself only makes everything worse. We need to rely on each other; all of us."

Kuroko turned to the hallway that lead to the elevator. "Speaking of talking, Mikoto… I'm going to talk to that robot, Devastator. I'll call you when I get off duty. I love you."

Mikoto didn't want to let go, but she ended up doing so, because she knew she had to. "That robot? Really? You think it's going to help us? If it killed those people in that building… but, you know what? I've butted myself into Anti Skill's business too much as it is. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you. I love you too. Listen, I've been trying to get a hold of Uiharu-san, but she never picks up her phone…"

Kuroko nodded to her girlfriend. "Do what you feel you have to do, Mikoto. I'll always support you."

September 22nd, 2014. 11:40 PM.

Uiharu Kazari stared at the wall across from her room's bed in the reformatory; she certainly didn't have anything better to do. There wasn't so much as a singular sharp object for her to slit her own throat, or anything long enough for her to choke herself to death with. There was one singular hope, however. One way out of this Hell that Uiharu Kazari hadn't worked up the courage to try; her room had one small window, which was adjacent to her bed.

Kazari turned away from the wall, and looked the window over. It didn't look big enough for her to squeeze her entire body through, unless she really tried. She knew that doing so would be excruciatingly painful.

Kazari turned away from the window, and sighed. Her room was sterile; the walls were beige, while the floors were hard, cold, and mostly white. The ceiling above Kazari's head was split into five rows of ten wide rectangles, all of which were white, with dark spots on them. Kazari secretly hoped the spots were some type of deadly mould. Uiharu Kazari's prison was rather cramped, though, she was grateful for it; because the room was so small, there wasn't enough room for more than a single bed, nightstand, and television stand, which had a small, flat screen television sitting atop it. The idiot-box had been tuned to some newscast, which Kazari had found herself drowning out.

"I'm powerless. I need to get back to D-001's hole in the ground, get my tech… it could've been cleared out by now, but it's worth a shot."

As Uiharu Kazari continued to quietly contemplate, the sound of her room's door being unlocked, followed by a sickeningly, disgustingly sweet voice interrupted her musings. Kazari's brow furrowed, and she turned her head towards the door to her room.

"What."

"Hello, Uiharu-san. How are you feeling this evening?" Inquired the orderly who had been periodically checking up on the young woman since her arrival. It made Kazari want to scream and tear the innocent orderly apart. Kazari physically bit her tongue, causing it to begin to bleed in her mouth; she wouldn't give this oppressive system the pleasure to see her rage.

Kazari noticed that the orderly had changed her appearance ever so slightly since her last visit; her shoulder-length blonde hair had been tied into a neat bun. She wore the same despicably sterile uniform – an aqua blue, long-sleeved shirt, and baggy slacks of the same color. On her feet, she wore generic white trainers.

"Terrible. What's it to you?" Kazari growled, falling back on her pillow.

The orderly approached, which caused Kazari to jump. "Uiharu-san, it's perfectly alright. I understand what you're going through. I'm here for you."

Kazari chuckled; it was a weak, pathetic vocalization, without so much as a single trace of goodwill.

"Seeing you like this breaks my heart, Uiharu-san. I want to see you recover, and I want to see you leave this place, happy and healthy." The orderly spoke in a soft, almost motherly tone of voice.

"You're just someone doing your job. I understand, too. No hard feelings… do you really, though? I've done things that I should be killed for. I gave birth to a deranged monster… a monster that's the only hope Academy City has left."

The orderly frowned. She placed her hands behind her back, and sighed deeply. "It's not really polite to ask…"

"Shoot." Kazari commanded.

"Are you a… a young mother? It's just, I've heard things like this before..."

"God, no. Not a mother, not to that mistake."

Kazari leaned up from her pillow, and placed her hands in her lap. She motioned for the orderly to come closer. The orderly shook her head, but leaned forward, as if to say "I'll listen from here."

"I can't tell you anything more. I'm involved in things so deep in this City's twisted mess of lies and semi-truths, just talking about them could result in you and whatever family you have getting killed. Go. Go work, then go home to your family." Kazari practically ordered.

"If you need anything at all, Uiharu-san, just…"

"I know. Press the button." Uiharu Kazari huffed, irritated, as she tapped on the underside of her bed.

As the orderly smiled thinly and went to turn away, another orderly had arrived. He was older – Kazari took a moment to look him up and down. Brown, slicked back hair, with hints of silver visible in parts sat atop his head. His face was clean-cut, and his dark brown eyes held very little concern for anything, perhaps save his own wants and needs.

"Uiharu-san, someone's requesting a visitation with you. I took the liberty of informing them that visitation hours are over, but they'll hear none of. They claim to be a 'close personal friend' of yours."

"Call security?" Kazari suggested, rolling her eyes.

"Surely I would've, if our reformatory had an actual, functioning human security force, Uiharu-san." The older, male orderly growled.

Kazari gave a frustrated sigh.

Shirai Kuroko had used her ability to teleport to the tenth floor of Anti Skill's school district seven headquarters; she turned the same corner that the Kamijous had turned during their second encounter with the monstrous machine that had come to reside there. Her head throbbed, and for a moment, Kuroko stumbled, before she regained her footing.

Kuroko was partly surprised to find Devastator's holding cell, and the holding cells near it intact; she had half-expected the unhinged machine to betray her and Anti Skill. As she peered through the bars of Devastator's holding cell, she found it in the same position that it had been in when she had left it the day after its second meeting with the Kamijous. It stood in the corner of the cell, its arms at its sides, its eyes and the lights on its body unilluminated.

Kuroko took a step into the cell, ducking beneath the collection of mangled, twisted bars. Shards of broken metal crunched beneath her booted feet. As her footfalls continued, the darkened holding cell was suddenly awash in color; everything went from dark to light. Shirai Kuroko's head instantly darted up, and her mind consciously registered what had happened.

The cell had been bathed in cyan light. Devastator's 'blinking' eyes, along with its endoskeletal torso and shoulders were the source of the illumination. The monstrous machine began to chuckle inhumanly. Its body produced a series of hums as it jerked to life, and walked towards Kuroko, rolling its shoulders as it did so.

"Deputy. Whoever do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Devastator inquired.

"I don't think I can be a "deputy" for much longer. Devastator, we need to talk. I have questions, and I'd like it if you answered them truthfully." Kuroko stated. Her face was stern, her lips straightened into a neutral expression.

"Would I ever lie to you, Deputy?"

"We're going to find out."

Kuroko cleared her throat, and crossed her arms. Devastator looked down at the teleporter; its lack of a face unnerved her, but Kuroko wouldn't show it. Hundreds of tiny mechanical arms sat just beneath the metal that made up Devastator's wireframe head. They caused various parts of the head, such as its 'lips', and its 'brow ridge' to move; to Kuroko, it looked as if Devastator's wireframe head was attempting to form facial expressions, regardless of whether or not it had a face.

"My fellow officers and I found cadavers in an abandoned property in district ten; my superior identified the cadavers as members of the militaristic terrorist organization known as Deadlock. Please answer me, Devastator? Were you in any way involved in this?"

The machine shrugged its shoulders indifferently, and turned to its holding cell's bed. "Deadlock? Deadlock and I… we don't get along. We don't see eye to eye on a lot of issues, such as the fact that they still exist."

Kuroko raised an eyebrow quizzically.

The machine picked something up from its bed's sheets, and placed it inside of its skeletal frame. "Now that you're here, Deputy, and now that you seem to be deeply invested, I think it's time we started moving this operation along. Deadlock are puppets, nothing more. Dancing marinates. You can kill as many of them as you want; they keep coming back. You blow up a safehouse, and for every one that dies, another two take their place. To answer your question, I'll need to ask my own. How old were these "cadavers"? I haven't been out on a joyride in weeks," Devastator spoke.

"Don't know, myself. My superior said they were "old", and "not fresh". I wasn't… able to get a good look at them." Kuroko explained. She turned her attention to the area of the machine's skeletal frame where the mysterious object had been placed.

"Old? Yep, that was me. Any Deadlock I've left lying around have got to be in the advanced stages of decomposition, by now!" Devastator proclaimed, an air of cold, unfeeling proudness clashed with the warmth of its synthetic voice.

"You sound fairly unperturbed. Those were people, Devastator!" Kuroko chastised. The machine emulated the sound of a human's sigh, and threw its hands into the air out of frustration. Shirai Kuroko watched it, as it paced about the holding cell.

"Deadlock aren't people, Deputy. How many times am I going to have to explain this to you? I…" the machine's voice trailed off, as it stopped in its tracks. It looked in Kuroko's direction, and, uncharacteristically, the teleporter was overcome by a primal desire to flee. Its metallic wireframe head, that lacked even a piece of a real face became completely emotionless, and it caused Kuroko great unease. Devastator leaned in.

"Let's talk, Deputy. Let's talk about them; Deadlock, that is. More importantly, let's talk about their overall irrelevance. You want to see Academy City saved. You want everything to get better, but you don't want to take action. You want someone else to save Academy City for you. You're just like the star-crossed lovers. If anyone's going to save Academy City, it's going to be people like us, like the star-crossed lovers. I knew, as soon as that irritatingly persuasive hero and the Mental Out walk in here, willingly, there was something different there, Deputy. Between you and yours, I didn't see anyone else out there on that warm night, trying to stop that iron… something or other.

"I'm going to help you make the great step that you need to make. I don't have a lot to go on, but it's enough, for now – my mother and I heard a rumor that, in district ten's reformatory, there's a Supirium operation being overseen by a mind controlling anima- esper. Given that their kind can't get inside my head, I would obviously be the figurative man for the job.

"How does this apply to Deadlock at all, you're wondering? I need a makeover, Deputy. I look worse than I feel. Then, with a shell of Supirium, I can get to work on helping you and yours save Academy City, if that's truly what you want, and I can get to work on finding my boy, and destroying the banes of my existence."

Kuroko quickly put the pieces together. Her arms remained crossed, and she maintained her cool, stern appearance. Inwardly, however, Shirai Kuroko was torn. Little did Shirai Kuroko know that days prior, another had this very same inner conflict, faced with an impossible decision and an imposing mechanical monstrosity.

"How are you going to operate like this? You'll have to travel by night, and even then, if someone sees you, everything will just get so much worse!" Kuroko exclaimed, frustrated and conflicted.

Devastator 'laughed', and moved to pat Kuroko on the head; she quickly sidestepped the attempt at mock-affection, which caused the machine to stare down at her awkwardly, unmoving again.

"Isn't it obvious, Deputy? I'll need a disguise! In a wasteland of crime and disorder, an anonymous, caped hero appearing out of nowhere isn't so inconceivable, is it? Besides, I had an idea the other day, while you were busy leaving me to rot in my own misery," Devastator exclaimed excitedly.

"Things got busy! Devastator, I didn't mean t…"

"Hush, Deputy! Hush little Deputy, don't you cry. It was a self-depreciative jab," the mechanical monstrosity retorted. It motioned for Kuroko to follow, as it ducked beneath the entranceway of twisted metal that Kuroko had entered from. The Anti Skill officer rubbed her temples and cursed under her breath as she followed the machine.

"Candidly speaking, I did have an idea. I think I've found a loophole in this curse. How I didn't think of it sooner is beyond my knowing! My boy can't make lasting memories of me, no… but he could very well make lasting memories of an alternate identity, so long as he isn't aware that it's yours truly behind the mask. It would be a grim mockery of a friendship, but a friendship nonetheless." Devastator spoke.

Kuroko didn't immediately answer. The machine seemed to mean well enough; thus far, it had only killed criminals, and though it had attacked her precious Onee-Sama, it had done so in fits of rage. Kuroko couldn't know if there was true malice behind its actions, or if it was merely a confused construct.

"Waiting, here. It's okay, though. I've got all the time in the world…" Devastator commented, as it leaned against a wall; it and Kuroko had only managed to walk fifteen or so feet, before the Anti Skill officer had come to a stop.

"If I let you go, I could be responsible for an untold number of deaths! Who knows what you could do?! This isn't a decision for someone like me to make! I'm just… I'm just Shirai Kuroko! I'm just an officer of the law, trying to keep my dying home from falling apart! I'm just trying to keep people SAFE!" Kuroko screamed in frustration, guilt, and grief all rolled up into one fist that struck her higher mind with terrible force.

As Kuroko slumped to the floor, her body shaking, Devastator fell to one knee. Its emotionless, faceless head peered down at the pathetic sight before it.

"It's not a matter of letting me go. I can leave anytime I want; I'm no puppet. What you're doing, this isn't the way to keep people safe, Deputy. I don't kill anyone who matters; because it's not what my boy would want. He wouldn't want his papa to be a murderer, so, his papa isn't one.

"Everything I do is for my boy. I live for him. If I could, I'd die for him. If he had wanted me to, I would've fought the entire world for him, I would've crushed the army of every nation for him, if he would've wanted me to… but he didn't want me to, and so I won't. Why do you think, Deputy, that I accepted your offer? I could've killed you. I could've found a way to kill the Railgun, too, but that's not what my boy would've wanted. The Kiharas? The gangs? Deadlock? Not people. If you don't kill them, they'll kill you. Face facts, Deputy! There's no happy ending, unless you make one!"

Shirai Kuroko looked up at the machine before her, and allowed her lips to form uncensored words. "You're so inhuman, you're everything I'm not… I can't relate to you, at all, and yet, when you talk about your son, or whatever this boy might be to you, I feel like there's something I can grasp onto; some shred of humanity."

"I take that as a no, then." Devastator replied solemnly.

"You're wrong." Kuroko retorted. She rose up from the floor, dusting her knees and lower legs as she did so. Devastator's head followed her movements, swivelling on its neck. "I… I want to trust you. We haven't gotten to know one another well, because… well, I feel like you're unknowable. Still, you've been honest with me. Nobody reported seeing you leave, and nobody reported seeing you enter. Every time I've checked on you, you've just been… here. Waiting. For me."

Devastator turned its back to Shirai Kuroko, its body humming as it began to walk away from her. "I've spent the last five years waiting, Deputy. Patience is a virtue I've come to know all too well; but I tire of waiting, and I tire of being patient. Inaction is the greatest crime."

"I told you I'd help you, didn't I? I told you "we'd" help you get your everything back… but so far, it's just been me. There's been so much happening to me lately. "We" have our work cut out for us. My superior has assured us a place on the OFFICER Network's death sentence list, my… friend, recently became my lover…"

"Congratulations. Don't let them slip away from you." Devastator interrupted.

"Thank… you? Everything is just so different." Kuroko said with a sigh. She didn't feel any less conflicted. Shirai Kuroko had two opposing forces tugging at either side of her consciousness, threatening to tear her apart if she didn't obey one or the other.

"How about this? Accompany me, Deputy. We'll get my mother, I have irregular contact with one of the most effective mercenaries in Academy City, and then, we'll get to work. We'll form…"

"A gang? A group? A cabal?" Kuroko rambled.

"A clique."

Kuroko raised an eyebrow in confusion. Her head throbbed again, and she instinctively raised her index fingers to her temples, in an attempt to ease the inconsistent jolts of pain.

"I've really got to lay off using my ability so rapidly… but, a clique? Isn't that a little bit, I don't know, immature? I remember there being cliques in middle school, but, it's something people grow out of." The Anti Skill officer spoke.

"I'd argue against that statement. What's a gang, really? What's Deadlock? They're cliques with guns and anima- ESPER abilities. We'll be the greatest clique. We'll be the clique to end all cliques!" Devastator exclaimed, grasping at the air with one if its hands. Its fist closed, and it peered down at the unimpressed-looking Shirai Kuroko.

"I still have so many questions… how do you plan to get… her? Who's this mercenary you're talking about? Is it Kinuhata?" Kuroko inquired, shaking her head from side to side.

"It's fairly obvious that you're not ready to protect what you hold dear; no trouble. I will do it for you, Deputy. My waiting has been in vain… though frustrating, I know that your heart's in the right place." Devastator turned to face Kuroko, and proceeded to raise its left wrist. Kuroko's heart began to beat at a quickened pace in her chest, and she was prepared to perform a swift mental calculation at any given second, in order to avoid the attack she knew would follow that action.

A particle stream emerged, and surged in Kuroko's general direction; Kuroko vanished in the blink of an eye. The stream destroyed the wall, and shattered the window at the end of the hall. Broken glass flew from the window's frame. In another blink, she appeared behind the mechanical monstrosity, two daggers in hand.

"Why?!" Kuroko demanded, panting, rage in her voice. "Why would you…" Shirai Kuroko silenced herself immediately.

"It's not a matter of letting me go. I can leave anytime I want; I'm no puppet."

"I'm sorry. I… things have changed. I should've known better, but I never could've foreseen…" Kuroko stopped talking. Her lips closed shut, and she peered up at the security camera that sat in the corner of hall, its lens focused on the Anti Skill officer and the machine that stood before her. For a moment, she was reminded of the OFFICER Network, and how absolutely helpless she felt, and how absolutely hopeless Academy City's situation was.

"Devastator, explain everything to me on the way. I need to call someone very important to me, before we leave. They might just come with us." Kuroko firmly stated.

"Deputy? What's with the sudden change of heart? Don't you have problems to ignore?" Devastator inquired, cocking its head to one side.

"I'm done with ignoring, I'm done with pretending, and I'm done being a prisoner in my home. The Darkness of Academy City has made enough of us suffer. I'm done with everything." Kuroko growled in response. "It's time I take my home back."

Sharkbite, the Watcher, and Burglar found themselves in an all too familiar predicament. Sitting in the front seat of his beat-up old vehicle, Sharkbite took a sip from his bottle of orange juice, which was held in his gnarled, bloodied right hand. His equally bloodied left sat on the steering wheel. In the back of the vehicle, the Watcher, grinning widely, flipped through something on his phone. He showed whatever it was to Burglar, who rolled his eyes and turned away. The Watcher's grin faded, and he grumbled in annoyance.

"'Ey, Fagbite, call this asshat again. Motherfucker's clearly home, he's dodging us." The Watcher snarled, pointing to the upper floor of Kihara Gunpei's fortified mansion-fortress.

Sharkbite seethed. His wrinkled brow furrowed, and he gripped the wheel of his dingy vehicle tighter. "Fuckin… hold up." The man-beast ripped his phone from the pocket of his armored cargo pants, dialled the number of their temporary employer on the device's virtual keypad, and placed the device to his ear.

"You know those things give you brain cancer, yeah? You don't need to get any dumber," The Watcher taunted. Sharkbite gritted his teeth, but didn't rise to the bait.

"Hello?! Hello! Hi! Sorry! Who is this? Who's ringing my personal line? Is this a business inquiry? No, I wore a condom when I fucked Enshuu! Fuck off!" The voice of Kihara Gunpei frantically exclaimed.

"It's the Dreadsaws. Your contacts have all been really tight, but the last one's ghost. Went to the spot you gave us, and there wasn't a sign of shit. It was just an empty lot," Sharkbite explained. Burglar raised an eyebrow, and leaned forward.

"What're you doin'?" The Watcher hissed, jabbing Burglar in the side with the sausage-like index finger of his gaunt hand.

"Listening." Burglar retorted, his voice a whisper.

"Ah… ah, well, that, ah, that's different. Th-that's good, though! You got five or six, then? G-good work, boys. I knew I could count on you. Listen, why don't you boys come on up? I see you out there; we can talk, you can deliver the d… drivers, I can keep them nice, and safe, and then we can work on finding the eighth and ninth t-together!" Gunpei suggested. Sharkbite made note of the mania in his temporary employer's voice. The founder of the Dreadsaw Gang clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"If you've got the funds, we've got your chips." Sharkbite stated firmly.

"Yeah, yeah! I'll have it t-transferred to your overseas tax haven as soon as you get into my o-office! I've got this thing, among other things and people, by the ass! BY THE ASS!" Kihara Gunpei shouted; Sharkbite cringed, and the Watcher attempted to squeeze himself into the small space between the car's front seats. Burglar shoved his compatriot out of the way.

"Yeah, alright. We're comin' up. Better not be any girls up there."

Kihara Gunpei quickly disconnected the call. A heavily armored guard who stood before the gate of Gunpei's mansion looked to be speaking to someone directly before him, though there was no one there that could be seen. The guard's head stopped bobbing, and the gate behind them opened, as two of the three members of the Dreadsaw Gang stepped through. Shortly behind them, the third followed; in his right hand, Burglar carried a small metallic briefcase, fingers wrapped tightly around its handle.

The trio approached the door and, with a flick of Sharkbite's wrist, the mansion's door swung open. Though the same older gentleman the Dreadsaw Gang had encountered on their previous visit approached, he spared them a glance, and produced a short "mhm", as if satisfied. As quickly as the older gentleman had come, he left, returning to his duties. The trio spared no time in climbing the grand staircase that lead up to the mansion's second floor.

Sharkbite approached the door to Kihara Gunpei's office, grunted, and proceeded to push his bulky form against it. With one great shove, the door flew open.

"Unnecessary, but it gets the point across… Fagbite." The Watcher commented.

Sharkbite didn't respond. Instead, he focused intently on the three individuals, two of whom were flanking either side of Kihara Gunpei's desk.

One, who stood to the desk's left, he didn't recognize – she was a younger-looking woman with bright, wide sky blue eyes, and charcoal hair, which was styled in two elegant, long ponytails that ran down her back. She wore a sleeveless, bright red hooded sweater, and a short red dress. On her feet, she wore a pair of canvas shoes that matched the color of her hair.

To the desk's immediate right was someone Sharkbite recognized all too well. Standing tall and dignified-looking, was a strangely garbed individual. Their body was fully clad in a tight-fitting bright red armored suit, and their face couldn't be seen – it was obscured by a full-face helmet. The helmet, save its bright red visor, was featureless. From each of the suit's elbows, there was a long fin, that ended in a fine, sharpened tip. On the suit's back, there was an odd, mechanical-looking apparatus that, outwardly, resembled some type of backpack. Four grooves were present on the device, which was strapped to the oddly garbed individual's back with a series of tightly-fitted wires.

"Who the fuck is this clown?" Sharkbite demanded, pointing a finger at Gunpei's strangely garbed guest. "I don't do business with Deadlock. Too much heat. I'm not trying to wake up in the middle of the night with some mobster breathing down my neck."

"The mighty Dreadsaw Gang. It's a pleasure to meet with you again!" The strangely garbed individual politely spoke. They extended their armored hand in salutation. Sharkbite looked down at it momentarily, and proceeded to spit onto the floor.

"Man! I just… I just totally had that cleaned, dude. Enshuu, go get a mop!" Gunpei commanded. Enshuu gave a short, enthusiastic nod, and rushed from the room, her face emotionless.

"Deadlock? Man, we don't play that. We got beef with these busters," The Watcher spoke up, taking to Sharkbite's side. He ripped his pistol from its holster, and held it tightly in his left hand, finger curled around the trigger.

"Watcher, man… chill. Beef's beef, man. We're not here to throw down with Deadlock. We're here to get our motherfucking grip… That's it. If these clowns cross us on the street, that's different." Sharkbite stated firmly.

"Glad to see you've got a hold on that temper! Much more collected than during our last visit. Besides, Nico here isn't going to be staying around for long. We were just finishing up with talking out a business proposal. It's all just real estate jargon, you guys wouldn't understand, or care." Gunpei commented, waving the Dreadsaw Gang's concerns and comments away. "So, Nico, you know the spiel. Keep things running smoothly for now. If anything changes, which, I'm hoping it does – I'm REALLY hoping it does - I'll be sure to let you know. Sound good? Are we copasetic?" Gunpei inquired, looking to the strangely garbed individual.

"Of course, Kihara-sensei. One more thing before I take my leave…" The man named Nico spoke up.

"Yeah? I'm listening. Spit it out," Gunpei retorted, as Kihara Enshuu returned with a mop and bucket. She proceeded to mop up the wad of saliva that Sharkbite had spat from his mouth, and, without sparing anyone so much as a glance, swiftly left the room again. Burglar saw a Sharkbite's facial expression morph from irritated to sympathetic. Burglar sighed, and crossed his arms.

"The Network, and the other, more intelligent robot, Kihara-sensei. I've been hearing tales about one of our safehouses being sacked by the Network that might not be so tall." Nico replied; though his suit's helmet muffled his vocalizations, unease was more than evident in his tone of voice.

"The Network?" Gunpei scoffed. "Fuck the Network; more accurately, fuck the Director for always hacking it back. Everything would be so much easier if we had constant access to the stupid fucking Network! Speaking of which, any idea who DDoS'd us the other night, when the Iron Wall was pummelling my baby boy? I had a guy trying to trace the source, but whoever hit us was better hidden than a bus full of illegal immigrants."

Nico shook his head from side to side. "No, Kihara-sensei. If the robot attacks, though…?"

"Run. He won't hit me; I have leverage over my Devastator Unit. I can make him buzz off. I've got him on a leash, but he can hit you. You're too valuable to lose, Nico." Gunpei said, utter, incomprehensively dark seriousness in his tone of voice.

"Of course, Kihara-sensei."

Before Nico left the room, he turned to the Dreadsaw Gang, who had so far, had been patiently waiting for their chance to speak with Kihara Gunpei.

"Mr. Sharkbite. Would it be you who had the pleasure of… disabling the number four?" He inquired, arms crossed.

"No. My boys and I don't fuck with espers, unless they fuck with us, or someone wants us to fuck with them. If Meltdowner's dead, we didn't call the hit, and we didn't answer it." Sharkbite replied, fists clenched. The Watcher had holstered his weapon, but he appeared to be reaching for it.

"Ah. Curious. Your honesty is commendable; most would have jumped at the chance to claim they bagged the number four, or any level five, for that matter. I almost killed a level five, once. Came… this close." Nico reminisced. "They're pesky things. One of these days, I'd like to finish what I started. Just for the résumé."

"Maybe we'll get there first. If someone calls the hit, the Dreadsaw will be there to make it happen before you. Wouldn't that just be a bloody fucking shame, you cocksucking Deadlock twat?" Sharkbite snarled, closing the distance between himself and Nico.

"If you "answered the hit", as you so elegantly put it, before we, Deadlock, could, I would bow to your supremacy, master Sharkbite. You would also be tying up a very old loose end," Nico commented, before he took his leave.

"Don't give a fuck about your loose ends," Sharkbite snapped in response, taking a step forward, enraged. The Watcher placed his hand on Sharkbite's shoulder, and struggled to hold the man-beast back.

"Ooh! Excuse me, miss."

Nico nearly slammed into Enshuu, who had returned to the office. Gunpei slapped his knee, or what remained of it with his hand, and the android-like Kihara answered the call. Sitting herself in Gunpei's lap, Kihara Enshuu looked on at the Dreadsaw Gang.

"So – now that he's gone, let's get down to business, boys. Where're the drivers?" Kihara Gunpei inquired frantically. As Burglar held up the metallic briefcase, Gunpei practically salivated. Kihara Enshuu looked at him, but didn't appear to be phased by his behavior.

"Yeah, yeah. That's good… that's really, really good. Hahaha! Great, even! Put them on my desk! Enshuu, get to transferring these good Samaritans' funds to their account. If any of you guys want to take a trip to the sexy room, or want to have your way with Enshuu here – she's clean, by the way – just holler. It's not like any of 'em will say no!" Gunpei exclaimed, slapping his available knee with his hand as he chuckled.

Sharkbite looked into Kihara Enshuu's eyes, before they looked to the screen of the phone she had produced. Even in that split second, Sharkbite had seen nothing in them – not so much as a single hint of resignation, or regret, or anger. No emotion whatsoever. Enshuu looked up, and stared back into Sharkbite's own eyes, and she turned her head to one side. Seconds later, she looked back down to her phone.

"No trips, no fucked up one night stands. This is business," Sharkbite retorted. "Fill us in; you said something about two other chip things. The spot you gave us was a dud."

Kihara Gunpei straightened himself in his seat. He placed a hand on Kihara Enshuu's back, causing her to look back momentarily. Sharkbite found himself feeling deeply uncomfortable. He felt Burglar's eyes drilling into the back of his head.

"Way I see it? There's a HUGE possibility that the ass-muncher running the dead drop location realized what he had, or thinks that he knows what he has, and took off to try and sell it. I'll find the fucker, don't you worry, but, things are a wee bit different, now. Things are more personal, boys.

"The Iron Wall's thorough ass-kicking has inspired me to change the focus of my studies, and has sort of put one endgame result above the other, in terms of importance. Honestly? This one's on me! No way I could've known "oh, hey, the goddamn fucking RAILGUN of all people is going to show up and trash my robot!" Kihara Gunpei proclaimed. The Dreadsaw trio looked to one another, confused.

"The… Railgun? Misa… whatever? Asian names are damn weird." Sharkbite spoke up.

"Yeah, what other Railgun, knucklefuck? Oh, you mean "them". Ha. Those mass-produced sacks of meat couldn't kill a goddamn fly! So many people think that freakazoid who floated around in the big, white tower was sooooo ahead of his time, but, I'd disagree. Cloning? It was a joke! If you were able to make an army of level fives, yeah, I could see that working out, but the whole bunch of the little cunts were level twos! An army of self-aware, fire-breathing goats would've been a better idea!" Gunpei rambled.

Kihara Gunpei cleared his throat, and, as Kihara Enshuu finished with transferring the required funds to the Dreadsaw Gang's account, she stuffed her phone back in her pocket. The young woman stretched, and found Sharkbite looking at her yet again. Emotionless, the Kihara-to-be stared back.

"Listen; I'm going to keep these drivers for a rainy day. For the time being, I'm going to have Deadlock hunt around for the eighth and ninth drivers; it'll keep them occupied. You know how terrorists can be. If they're not blowing something, or somebody up every five seconds, they get REALLY FUCKING CRABBY! Your job here is done, boys, by golly gosh… but, if the Railgun's going to be involving herself in my business, I could pass you off to someone who knows more about messing with the Railgun than I do," Kihara Gunpei said, clasping his hands, and placing them neatly on the table.

"Get to the point, man. Is this 'someone' going to pay us? We ain't a charity," The Watcher spoke up. Sharkbite grunted at his compatriot.

"You boys love your money! It's totally rad, dude! I love money, too. Money buys you nice houses, and slave gir- I mean, willing, consenting girls who I pay to live here with me, and, most of all, it buys loyalty.

"If you want more money, and, if you look at the funds in your overseas account, I'm sure you will, here… I'm going to give you the contact information of a… a friend of mine. I'll make all the arrangements beforehand, so you can just waltz in whenever you've got free time. Name's Kihara Gensei. Radical old man, if science gone awry and eldritch abominations not meant to be seen by man is your scene." Kihara Gunpei offered, with a grin stretched across his face.

Sharkbite looked back to his two compatriots, and then to Kihara Enshuu.

"No. I don't know about these two, but I'm done working with you. There is one thing I'm interested in, though. You sell these girls? How much for her?" Sharkbite inquired, motioning towards Enshuu.

"Do I?! Of course I do. Enshuu, though? You're the first dumbass to ask! Are you sure you don't want to have a look at my stock in the sexy room? Why the fuck do you want her? She's useless. Just something to periodically use to get off, at least that's the only use I've found for her. I don't really have a set price… how about… I dunno. ¥600,000? Seems like a fair deal, to me; she's in possession of Mental Out. If you can get the bitch to actually use it, you could rob as many banks as you want with an ability like that!" Gunpei exclaimed. "Just don't try that shit on my forces; I've got their heads all rigged up."

Even then, Kihara Enshuu didn't seem to be concerned by the fact that the price of her existence was being negotiated before her eyes.

"Yeah. Burglar, get this shit worked out," Sharkbite commanded. Burglar, though having a perturbed expression on his usually passive face, obeyed the order. He produced his smartphone, and began to work.

"Alright, well, it's been nice knowing you, stupid. Beat it! Scram! You're the Dreadsaws', now! That's one less annoyance to put up with!" Kihara Gunpei exclaimed. Utterly servile, Kihara Enshuu removed herself from Gunpei's lap, and made her way to Sharkbite's side. The gruff man-beast looked down at her, and she looked up at him. As he, the Watcher, and Enshuu made their way out of Gunpei's officer, Burglar finished with his transferring of the necessary funds, he looked up to Kihara Gunpei for a moment.

"Life is strange… some things don't go the way you planned them out." Burglar stated.

"You can say that again; don't, actually say it again, by the way." Gunpei remarked, wheeling himself out from behind his desk. "If you can get her to use that ability, I might have to borrow her from time to time. Just a heads up."

Burglar shrugged indifferently, stuffed his phone back into his shorts' pocket, and turned away.


	22. A Certain Battle At The Reformatory I

At first, when the Dreadsaws and the newly "obtained" Kihara Enshuu stepped out from the entranceway of Kihara Gunpei's mansion-fortress, the silence was awkward for most parties involved. Enshuu didn't seem to be bothered by the silence in the slightest; rather, she was the image of neutrality.

"So, are we just going to pass 'er around until we're all feelin' good? Like a joint, but we're not gonna be the one's doin' the suckin'?" The Watcher inquired, his hungry, predatory eyes looking Enshuu up and down. A menacing, lustful grin had spread across his face.

Sharkbite craned his neck, his eyes staring into the Watcher's own moist globules. The man-beast clenched his fists, and snarled. "Nobody's touchin' her."

"What the fuck is this? You're a hero now all of a sudden, Fagbite? You're the good guy? The savior?" The Watcher snapped in annoyance, as he and Burglar, with Enshuu trailing a few feet behind, piled into Sharkbite's ruined vehicle.

"I'm not no fucking hero, but I wasn't going to sit there and… you know what? I don't have to fucking explain myself to your ass, fuck off. Fuck right off," Sharkbite growled, as he removed his weapon from his back, placed it under, and then fell into his vehicle's driver's seat, slamming the door behind him.

Enshuu walked to the driver side door, and leaned in, her bright, sky blue eyes darting about curiously. She observed Burglar, who was tapping on the screen of his smartphone, frowning slightly, then the Watcher, who flashed her a lustful grin, and patted his crotch, as if to welcome her, and then to Sharkbite, who was staring straight ahead, one foot on the gas pedal.

"What're you looking at? You're free to go. Run, go find a women's shelter or something. They'll take care of you, make sure you don't get… touched, get you into an apartment or something. Better yet, here; we'll take you to an ATM, hook you up some grip. You get on a plane, and get the fuck out of this dump, and never look back."

Kihara Enshuu cocked her head, and raised an eyebrow quizzically; Sharkbite noted that it was the first real emotion he had seen from her.

"That wouldn't be very Kihara-like," Enshuu stated.

"Why the fuck would you want to be like them? They're all cowards, haven't seen a day of real combat in their lives. I doubt a single one of them has even so much as picked up a gun and shot someone dead on equal grounds," Sharkbite snarled in response.

"Kagun-ojisan used to fight, before he… disappeared," Enshuu responded nonchalantly.

"Stockholm syndrome; I can smell that shit from here! Phew," the Watcher spoke, as he plugged his nose with one hand, and waved the other about in front of his face, as if he were attempting to push away some foul smell.

"Fuck… come on, get in, and we'll get you somewhere, get you some grip, and some proper clothes. This shit doesn't look like it's been washed in weeks," Sharkbite stated firmly as he reached over and unlocked the passenger side door. With a motion of his arms, he opened the door slightly, and then gave it a shove to open it all the way.

"Or… you can sit back here, with us!" The Watcher offered, patting the area between himself and Burglar.

"Not happenin', not on my watch." Sharkbite snapped.

"Maybe, proving myself by fighting with you, Sasquatch-oniisan, I can once and for all prove my Kihara-ness!" Enshuu hypothesized as she tapped her chin with her index finger.

"Whatever gets you in the fucking car faster."

With the swiftness of a great cat, Kihara Enshuu had sprinted to the other side of Sharkbite's vehicle, sat herself down comfortably in the passenger's side seat, and moved to buckle herself up. When her hand reached to where a seatbelt would normally be located, Enshuu's hand grabbed at thin air. "What would Accelerator-oniisan do?"

"No seatbelts?! I'm not going to be able prove my Kihara-ness if I'm tossed out of the fucking windshield! Safety first!" Enshuu proclaimed angrily, as she crossed her arms.

Sharkbite was startled by the sudden outburst from the previously emotionless young woman, but shrugged it off quickly enough. "Don't know what you're so pissed about, but if I was bein' held as a sex slave by some sick quadriplegic fuck, I guess I'd be a little pissy, too. Don't make a goddamn habit out of it."

"Who needs seatbelts? That shit's for pussies, man. When you're busting back out a window, you don't need a damn seatbelt!" The Watcher exclaimed in response, as Sharkbite put the vehicle into reverse.

"I haven't been in a car in a long time, Sasquatch-oniisan," Enshuu explained, her usual neutral tone of voice returning as the vehicle began to move. "Wheeeee."

Sharkbite leaned out from the window of the driver's side door, violently cleared his throat, and spat a ball of mucus and saliva out onto the road. "You're an odd one."

"I get it now! Haha! I understand!" The Watcher exclaimed. Burglar looked up from his phone for a moment, before he sighed in irritation and returned to his business, whatever that might've been. "Fagbite's… FAGBITE'S GOT A CRUSH!"

"What the fuck are you going on about?" Sharkbite rhetorically inquired, annoyance, and even the beginnings of outright anger in his voice.

"Ah… no, that's not quite it, I don't think…" Burglar spoke, for the first time since leaving Kihara Gunpei's mansion-fortress. "This isn't the way to cope with your…"

"Don't go rattling off about shit you know nothing about," Sharkbite snapped, viciousness in his voice.

"In a time like this… I'm going to think for myself."

"It's okay, Sasquatch-oniisan. Where are we going first? Why are you doing all of this?" Enshuu inquired. Sharkbite raised an eyebrow, and then, leaning out of his driver's side door's window for the second time, spat mostly saliva.

"Pick a fucking mood and stick with it? I don't know why, alright? I don't got an answer for you, so drop it. It was a spur of the fucking moment decision. I just did it. Be grateful, and pipe down, for cryin' out loud," The man-beast growled, his hands tightening around his steering wheel. "We've got some stops to make. We'll get you hooked up, and then I'm going to figure out just how I'm going to be able to make sure you don't end up being the same slave to a different master."

Uiharu Kazari groaned aloud as her "visitor" made herself known. "Not who I was expecting, honestly, but I think that's a good thing. If you were Saten, you'd be dead by now."

"Uiharu-san… hi." Misaka Mikoto greeted weakly. Mikoto looked her once-friend's form over, and her observations caused her to feel hope for Uiharu Kazari; she looked like she could be salvaged. Kazari's body, to Mikoto, was already looking thicker, and the dark circles under her eyes were receding. "You're looking better."

"Looking? Maybe; these mouth-breathers have been stuffing me with pills and "food" – with a million quotation marks for the last few days," Kazari explained, malice all too evident in her tone of voice.

Mikoto began to slowly approach the resting form of her once-friend. As the Railgun continued to look at Kazari, the memories the two had made together began to flood through her mind. They flooded through Kazari's own, as well, but Kazari struggled to force them back, and deny their existence.

Mikoto remembered when she had first met Uiharu Kazari and Saten Ruiko, Kazari's then-compatriot, on a warm day, when the sky was mostly clear. She remembered the events that revolved around Level Upper, and the coma that Saten Ruiko had been thrown into, around Therestina Kihara Lifeline, and the girls named Banri and Erii. Mikoto remembered Kiyama Harumi, and, concluding her dark reminiscing, Misaka Mikoto remembered the systematic butchering of her Sisters.

Kazari had raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem to be fighting against Mikoto's advancement. Testing the figurative waters, Mikoto took one final step, and neared the foot of her once-friend's bed. Sitting herself down on the foot's edge, Mikoto crossed her arms, as if she was chilled.

"It's been a, long time, Uiharu-san. What… what happened? Where did everything start going so… so wrong?"

"Kazari. For fuck's sake, you overzealous socialite, call me Kazari!"

"Socialite…? You know I was never big on that lifestyle, don't be… silly. Why are you so angry, not just at me, but at everyone and everything, Uiharu-sa— Kazari?"

Kazari chuckled slightly; the sound of the pathetic, hopelessly destitute vocalization that was produced by her once-friend, someone who had once been so full of life, someone who had been utterly drained of it and left an empty husk, nearly broke Mikoto.

"You know something, miss "Ace"? I've spent a lot of time, a lot of years of my life blaming you, blaming Kuroko, blaming that fucking turncoat for my life's shitty outcome, and the situation I've found myself in; but I've been wrong."

Mikoto looked on, confused, and awaiting the continuation of her once-friend's statement.

"I can't really blame anyone but myself. I'm the reason I'm here. I could blame my parents, but that would be completely illogical; when Mr. and Mrs. Uiharu decided that they loved one another, and decided to create life, they obviously didn't think that this misshapen parody of a life would be the end result of their decision. They couldn't have foreseen this.

"Still, I exist regardless – and because of that, because of the varying decisions I decided to make throughout this misbegotten journey of mine, I'm the one to blame, in the end. When I learned of the true nature of the Devastator Project, and what Devastator Mark One would be used for, I could've brought it all to a halt, then and there, by committing suicide.

"Without me, the Project would've failed. The two old, dying men I was assigned to work with, they were brilliant, but I was the glue that held everything together, I was certainly informed of it enough times. That mistake wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't be here, like… this."

Uiharu Kazari took a deep breath, and, as her chin buckled, she lowered her head. She deeply inhaled as her throat tightened, and her fists clenched the sheet that laid overtop of her lower body. As she fought them, their dripping only became faster, and stronger; suffering made liquid dripped from Kazari's tear ducts, and onto the sheets of her bed.

"The last time I found myself like this… so pitifully weak, so broken and pathetic… Erii; another goddamn, worthless turncoat. I cried for her, "Ace". I bawled like a child for her, and what does she do? She lets me slip away, just like the others. At least you have the decency to try and set things right, even if they can't be set right, even if they're completely wrong. I like to think she's dead, but I doubt it. I bet her and Saten sit around laughing, about me, about how badly I've fucked myself over."

Mikoto decided to speak up; she wouldn't hear any more of this. She wouldn't allow her once-friend to berate herself, and those Mikoto still considered to be her friends, no matter how distant, without reprimand.

"Kazari, can I tell you something? Will you actually listen to me, if I talk, or will you just get angry?" Mikoto inquired, as she looked to her broken once-friend.

"Why are you asking for my permission? Speak, say something, anything, Christ, just make sense! I've had it with people just looking at me, frowning!" Kazari snapped through her panting, and her failing attempts at controlling her emotions.

Misaka Mikoto looked into Uiharu Kazari's eyes, and, with an uncharacteristic darkness that fell over her facial expression, she began to speak. "For the last few years, not just right now… however long you were involved in what this place was really about, before everything came crashing down on us, I know how you've felt. I know exactly how you've felt, Kazari. I know your pain, and I know your anger. I know how helpless, and beaten you feel. I know how it feels to think that, by ending your own life, you can make everything better.

"I've been there, Kazari! I've experienced what Academy City really was! This robot, this Devastator machine, whatever it is, I'm sure it was another one of the City's attempts at grasping at absolute power, just like Accelerator was!"

"Ah… the Sisters, the omniscient, always spoken of, but never seen Misaka Network, the cornerstone of a plan beyond the comprehensions, beyond the wildest nightmares of most, but not all. Are you aware of why, exactly you were cloned tens of thousands of times over, Misaka-san?" Kazari inquired, raising her head slightly. Her soaking wet cheeks glowed beneath the synthetic light that beamed down upon her and Mikoto, as Kazari's eyelids attempted to clear her moist, bloodshot eyes of the tears that streamed out from them.

"I am. The first Director, Aleister planned…"

Kazari proceeded to interrupt her once-friend. "Aleister Crowley was a dimwit, a fool. He was little more than a bumbling, idiot child who thought himself untouchable. In the end, when he and his pets were destroyed by the one thing he relied so heavily upon – a fate I find to be almost humorously ironic – something was made clear to me, Misaka -san ; our collective existences, every esper who was ever born, and every esper who has died in Academy City's walls, every human who'll be born and subjected to the ugly mockery of an educational system known as the Power Curriculum Program, and every esper that will die – every second someone dies, "Ace" – we're all a joke. We're all a joke without a punchline."

Misaka Mikoto stared onwards at Uiharu Kazari, her lips parted slightly. The Railgun's lips pressed back together, and they began to unconsciously form words. "The Parameter List, I know… but, Kazari, how do you know…?"

"Did you think the data collected during Academy City's lifetime, by the UNDER_LINE Network, and then by its pseudo-successor, the OFFICER Network, was safe from my prying eyes, "Ace"? I know everything there is to know about all the fucked up occurrences, all of the human rights violations, all of the illegal, under the radar experiments… everything." Kazari stated. She had stopped her weeping. Running her hands over her face, Kazari shrugged her shoulders.

"Misaka Mikoto, the almighty Railgun, she who stands third only to a serial killer, and "Kakine Teitoku", I know all about that, too… I want to see Academy City die. I would love nothing more than to live through an age in which Academy City, and all of its atrocities and secrets, and the brutal war it caused a decade ago, became nothing more than an unsightly page in our species' history books… but…"

"But there are is a lot of good that has come from Academy City, and from the people we've both met here, whether you want to admit it or not. There's been overwhelming evil, but there's been good, too," Mikoto replied firmly.

Kazari hesitated for a moment, before she answered. To Mikoto, it looked as if her once-friend was conflicted. "Truly? The only decent human being who calls this place home I can think off of the top of my head is Aleister's toy, the mysterious "Imagine Breaker" as he's called, but even he has a bit of a violent track record. Mostly instances of self-defence gone grotesque, but, I digress. The Imagine Breaker is brutish and very likely without any type of higher thought processes, but effective in his execution," Kazari replied.

Mikoto sighed, as anger began to course through her, threatening to overtake her and make her lose the cool she was so desperately trying to keep.

"You're trying to protect yourself by throwing up these walls, by pretending to be this cold, unfeeling person, pretending to have everything under control, when you really don't, but it's not working, Kazari. I know what you're trying to do… it didn't work for me, either.

"I don't think I ever told you or, her, Saten… but I'll tell you now. Maybe you'll gain something from hearing about this, or maybe you won't. So many years ago, Kazari, I was ready to take the steps that would've lead to my death, a death I thought would fix everything. If not for two people, one of whom I never would've expected, I wouldn't be here, talking to you."

Kazari rose up from her bed, her head spinning as she did so. Her sock-clad feet touched the cold floor of her room in the reformatory, and she proceeded to stretch. Mikoto looked her once-friend up and down; she wore a simplistic, long-sleeved, plain white woolen shirt, and an equally simplistic pair of slacks to match.

"Uiharu-san?" Mikoto inquired, either forgetting or perhaps simply not caring about her once-friend's previous request. Kazari's mind had formed a reply, and she was about to voice it, when Mikoto's phone began to vibrate – she had evidently forgotten to turn it off before she entered the reformatory. Kazari stuffed her hands into her slacks' pockets, and groaned as the Railgun answered the incoming call.

"K-Kuroko? Hi… Hi. What's up?"

The disturbingly warm, yet paradoxically synthetic, and cold voice that responded on the other end sent chills down the mighty Railgun's spine.

"It's a pleasure to speak to you again, Railgun. Are you with my mother?"

Shirai Kuroko pressed her finger against the "turn on speakerphone" option on her phone's calling app's screen, and moved to the other side of the device that Devastator held in its cold, metal palm. Bright, cyan light emerged from its eyes, and from the halfway point of its neck, where a sheet of body armor had fallen away; the lights illuminated the phone's screen.

"Onee-Sam… Mikoto, I can explain. You mentioned earlier that you were trying to get a hold of Uiharu? Did you?" Kuroko inquired.

"She's… something. More than I bargained for. How did the robot get your phone?" Mikoto replied, in a harsher tone than she'd wanted to. Immediately, she began to feel terrible.

Kazari grinned; it wasn't a facial expression of happiness, or even amusement. It was small, but predatory, and full of malicious intent.

"D-001?" Kazari inquired, as she approached Mikoto. The Railgun jumped slightly, at first, and prepared herself for a fight, though Kazari didn't appear to Mikoto to be interested in such a thing. "Figures as much. This works out well, actually."

"Mother!" The machine happily proclaimed on the other end; before Kuroko, it seemed to be adopt the mannerisms of an overjoyed child who had just been given a long-awaited gift. "Mother, I've missed your voice. You're so beautiful."

Kazari shuddered, and felt as if she was going to upchuck. Mikoto didn't seem to be feeling any more comfortable about the situation. Her lips had fallen into a frown, and her nose had scrunched.

"I've found myself unable to contribute to your proposal, or series of proposals, due to being imprisoned in a penitentiary of anti-anxiety medication and delusional mental cases. The bitch in the room next to me is convinced that she's Jesus Christ. I don't belong here; I hate myself, and I want to die, but I'm not crazy," Kazari mumbled, as she motioned for Mikoto to follow.

"Where…?" Mikoto began, but she was quickly silenced as Kazari interrupted. "Out, I want out. I gave this place a decent shot, I wanted to see what they could do, but they're not doing a damned thing. I'm not even saying goodbye to the only decent human being in this shithole, because by refusing to do so, I'll very likely be saving her life, and then I'm walking – the staff won't give us trouble.

"I'm not the first person to stroll out of this place, right past the worried-looking orderlies. Network's supposed to be this place's security, but, funny thing, it doesn't have any officers stationed here, or at any hospital or reformatory, as far as I can tell, and know. Knowledge is power."

Mikoto began to argue, though only a few syllables were able to run from her lips, before Kuroko, of all people or things interrupted her.

"Mikoto, remember what you said earlier? "If we work together, with everyone else, we'll make things right!" This might not be the way we envisioned it happening, but this could be our chance. Why wait a week, or a month, or more, if we can start right now?!"

"Shirai's actually talking sense, for once in her life," Kazari mumbled, as she tapped her food impatiently. The Thermal Hand user ran her fingers through her dark hair, and sighed as she rolled her bloodshot eyes.

"Inaction has been the enabler of Academy City's greatest crimes, Railgun," Devastator stated firmly.

"This is all wrong! Walking out of reformatories, no security, orderlies who don't care about their patients, according to Uiharu-sa… Kazari, Anti Skill being attacked by… people being beaten to death on the streets by robots who are supposed to be protecting us, kidnappings, gangs... everything is so backwards!" Mikoto hissed, attempting to keep her voice down.

"Funniest part is, the Board, and our Supreme Leader Faceless Director are likely tapping this call right now," Kazari commented, as she began to walk towards the closed door of her room. She leaned against it, hands at her sides, as she tossed her head to the right. Her dark bangs flopped away from her eyes. "It's one of the reasons we need to get out of here; don't know if you can feel it, "Ace", I certainly can't, but I know them when I see them. AIM Jammers, all over, little wires in the walls, I found some in the bathroom when I… kind of… lost it. Made a hole. If the Director and their Board flunkies get word of a possible betrayal by a high-ranking esper, the Network will be here in no time, I'm sure of it. You try and use your ability, and, it's more than likely lights out."

"Kuroko, where are you going? Are you and that… thing coming here?!" Mikoto practically demanded, as the feeling of helplessness and a lack of control began to devolve into full-blown panic. Misaka Mikoto wrestled with the feelings, and tried her best to keep her head above water.

"Get a grip; that's coming from someone whose been in a nuthouse for the last few days," Kazari snarled at Mikoto. "I have an idea of where it's heading. District ten? If so, you're taking the chance, and now you've recruited the infallible Officer Shirai? How'd you manage to get her to wake up?"

On Kuroko's end, Devastator leaned closer to the device, "the Deputy's a reasonable person, mother; someone who's willing to see that this can't continue, and that change is the one-way road to peace. I won't solely be relying on the Deputy, but, for now, we're working together." The monstrous machine's lower jaw clanked against the bottom of its wireframe head as it spoke, and the jaw's movements, combined with the movements of the machine's form, which to Kuroko seemed disturbingly like unnatural attempts at mimicking natural human body language, sent a shiver down her spine.

Mikoto handed the phone off to Kazari, who raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged, as she took the device into her hands. Mikoto began to pace as she rubbed her temples with the index finger and thumb of her left hand.

"Misaka-san's over here losing her mind; she looks like she belongs in this room more than I do, but I digress. I know how I'm going to get out of this place, with or without her," the Thermal Hand user spoke as she observed the Railgun, who appeared to be in a state of inner conflict.

"D-001, do you think Anti Skill, or the Network cleared out that den of yours?" Kazari then inquired.

"Of weapons, mother? I'd imagine. I'd also imagine that you cleared any trace of our activities, legal or otherwise?" The machine spoke, responding with a query of its own.

"Obviously. What do you think I am? An idiot? You can try gluing the hard drive back together, Officer Shirai, if you want something to lock me up for," Kazari taunted.

"I'm hanging up now. I…"

There was a moment of hesitation. Shirai Kuroko didn't speak, but she hadn't hung up, either. Like her girlfriend, Kuroko appeared to be in a state of inner conflict, as well.

"Mikoto? Are you still there? Who has the phone?" Kuroko asked. Kazari detected something that sounded like nervousness in the teleporter's voice.

"That would be me," Kazari stated. "If Misaka-san is done mumbling to herself, I'll give it right back to her."

Further hesitation on Kuroko's end, before the teleporter spoke up.

"That's alright. Mikoto? I hope you're doing okay. I'll see you soon, okay? Hang in there. You're doing great, I just know you are. I know things aren't really turning out the way we thought they would when we were younger. I know Academy City, and a lot of the people who live here are far from perfect… just know that I love you, and everything's going to turn out alright, in the end. I just know it."

Mikoto stopped her pacing, and, looking out of Kazari's room's little window, smiled thinly. Something inside of Misaka Mikoto felt embarrassed for feeling the way she felt, and for loving the person that she loved, and it made her feel even worse. Yet, Misaka Mikoto smiled on.

"I l-love you too. Whatever you're doing out there, stay safe. Text me, p-please."

"The Railgun? I never would've saw that coming, Deputy," The synthetic, inhuman voice of Devastator spoke. "I will," came Kuroko's response, before she hung up.

As the call ended, Kazari extended her hand, Mikoto's phone held in its palm, the Thermal Hand user's fingers wrapped around it.

"Touching." Kazari muttered.

Mikoto took the device back, and jammed it into her pocket.

"I'm not leaving my, girlfriend, out there to f-fend for herself. I don't like this, not at all, everything feels so wrong to me, so… incorrect, so unfit! I feel like everything I've ever been taught, by my pare— mom, and by this City, is being…"

"The way you've been conditioned to think is being called into question," Kazari firmly stated, as she moved away from the door to her room in the reformatory. "I don't mean this in a conspiratorial sense; in one way or another, we've all been conditioned to think in a particular way, or series of ways. Your core values and principals are being challenged," Kazari spoke, looking Misaka Mikoto directly in the eyes. The golden-brown irises in the whites of Kazari's eyes locked with Mikoto's own brown irises.

"I don't know what Kuroko's doing with that thing, or how she was convinced, or why she agreed to get involved with it, and whatever it's engaging in… but I trust her. I don't trust that thing, not at all, but I trust Kuroko," Mikoto responded. "The door behind you is locked, yes?"

"If you would've asked me, I would've laughed in your fucking face. It's not that easy," Kazari snapped. "But it's easy. There's a button underneath my bed; I'm going to press it, and an orderly, hopefully not the orderly I've been dealing with will be informed that I need something, and they'll come up here. You attended Tokiwadai Middle School, the school of silicone and eating disorders, I'm sure you were taught how to act. I'm going to be taking advantage of those skills."

Kinuhata Saiai, clad in a pinkish red crop top and torn, tight-fitting dark jeans stained with dark brown and reddish streaks, walked down the cracked, mossy, and graffiti-covered concrete stairwell that lead into her old stomping grounds; a run-down dive bar in the Strange known as the Sozzled Schoolgirl. It was down the street from Kurozuma Wataru's residence in the center of the Strange, and right behind the Strange's only de facto grocer's, beneath a long-since abandoned toy shop.

Once her high-heeled, knee-length leather boots ceased to click against the concrete stairs, the petite esper pushed the tall metal door open with a shove. It groaned in complaint, but opened for her nonetheless. As Saiai entered, the sights and smells of what was, for all intents and purposes, home, hit her. The dirty light that washed over the dive bar brought a familiar comfort to Saiai, as did the small group of off-duty Big Spider fighters who were huddled around a pool table.

The hardwood flooring of the dive bar creaked beneath her footfalls, once she stepped off of the front carpet. In the upper right hand corner of the dive bar, there were a number of arcade machines, as well as slot machines and even a claw machine, which didn't appear to have any prizes inside of it, save a thick layer of dust and many uninhabited cobwebs. In the center of the area, between an arcade and slot machine, was a set of wooden stairs that lead upwards. In the lower left hand corner, there were a total of six pool tables, with all of the essentials one would need to get a game going, along with male and female public washrooms.

In the upper left hand corner of the dive bar was the area that Kinuhata Saiai was focused on – the bar itself. As Saiai pulled out a rickety old metal stool, and sat her posterior down on the flattened cushion, crossing one of her legs over the other, she ran the fingers of her left hand over the bar's surface – the cold, almost rubbery-feeling wood that her fingers rubbed against sent chills down Saiai's spine.

Behind the bar were three tall racks with four old, worn-looking wooden shelves each, all of which were stocked with empty bottles of the dive bar's various selections in less-than-fine alcohol. At the far end of the bar, there was a cash register, and another metal stool behind that. Next to the ancient-looking shelves, there was a counter, which was accompanied by a small sink, which was filled to maximum capacity with empty pitchers, glasses, and plates.

Kinuhata Saiai looked about; the barkeeper was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Saiai shot up from her stool, frustrated, and approached one of the nearby pool tables which wasn't surrounded by Big Spider forces; she had a funny feeling that she'd find someone who had the answers to her inquiries in the general vicinity of the pool tables, as she looked at the forms of the people there.

"Fuckin' Musujime…" groaned a familiar voice; Saiai turned her head to the source of the proclamation, and her vision fell upon the imposingly tall, morbidly obese, beast-like form of Saigo, another regular. His enormous form was clothed in a pair of terribly large, loose-fitting sweatpants, a gargantuan, stained white tank top, and a pair of socks and sandals, which were done up with Velcro straps. He had no hairline to be spoken of, and what hair remained on his head consisted of mere patches of messy, uncombed hair. As Saiai walked up to him, and the other person at the pool table, Saiai was able to see his clean-shaven face, which was covered in bloodied, scabbed-over scars. Where his right eye should've been, there was an empty, bloodied, fleshy socket.

"Kinuhata! Shit, I ain't seen you 'round this neck of the woods in… fuck me, and I mean it, fuck me! Years!" Saigo exclaimed excitedly. He moved to offer Saiai an embrace, but she simply shook her head and held out a hand in an act of silent rejection. Saigo produced a disappointed moan, and lumbered back to his side of the table. "Why don'tcha school this little punk for me, Kinuhata? Can't play this shit without depth perception, not the way I used to!" Saigo laughed, his massive, jelly-like gut flopping about as he did so.

"I'd super love to, crazy old man, but I'm actually looking for a different kind of action. It's been a tough day at the office," Saiai remarked, before she turned to Saigo's opponent. "Where's your fiancé? I super need a drink."

The redhead looked to the bar, and, upon finding it unattended, produced a short, guttural growl of irritation. "Game's going to have to be put on hold; I'll go find the Idiot. Sorry, Kinuhata, Saigo," Musujime Awaki grumbled. As she stormed off, Saiai's vision followed Awaki's movements.

The Move Point user had bright red hair, which was tied back into a singular, fluffy-looking ponytail that fell to her posterior. Awaki wore a dark red and white flannel top, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a pair of extremely tight, white-colored jeans that greatly accented her curvy, supermodel-like figure, a pair of thick-looking, shin-length combat boots, and a fashionable woolen belt, from which what Saiai recognized to be a military flashlight hung.

"Musujime, you, the creepy goth chickadee who sometimes comes in; between you three, I'm the luckiest motherfucker this side of Academy City," Saigo commented, as he took a swig from his pitcher of bubbly, yellow alcohol. "Yer life's gone ta Hell, Saigo! Ya need to get yerself together and settle down with a nice womyn!" Saigo exclaimed mockingly, as he began to laugh. Saiai giggled as she looked up at his red face. "That's just not me! Good for all the pupils, peoples, who've taken that there route, all the power to them, but, not me."

"If you're super comfortable the way you're living, nobody has the right to tell you to change who you are," Saiai responded, as she leaned against the table, using her arms to support her upper body. Saigo eyed her impressive bosom, and her naval, with what Saiai knew to be hungry, but harmless eyes.

"See? That's why I always liked ya, Kinuhata. You tell it like it is. Strong, independent, you're a dreamboat!" Saigo proclaimed. "So? How're ya doin'? Funny stuff goin' on. I've been hearin' about them robot cops, the… COP Network, or something or other, shootin' at Anti Skill? That robot showdown over in district seven. Don't we got enough problems?"

"I super don't care about all that, not my business. I'm super thirsty, in more ways than one. It's been a super hard week; work's killing me. I need something to drink, and I need a big, hard man inside me, and I'm super straight," Saiai responded, as she motioned for Saigo to pass his drink.

"Whatcha mean, "gimme your drink?" Get your own drink, chickadee!" Saigo jokingly retorted, before he passed his pitcher to the petite esper. Saiai looked the pitcher over, and, shrugging, held the pitcher inches from her lips and poured its contents into her mouth. Saigo watched on, eyes widening as the petite esper, slowly, but surely, downed what remained of the thirty-inch pitcher – at least fifteen or so inches worth of alcohol had remained, before it flowed into Kinuhata Saiai. Saiai placed the empty pitcher down on the edge of the pool table, and grinned at Saigo, whose lips had parted.

"As a former teacher, I shouldn't be condoning this… d'aww, heck with it, that was too hot NOT to see!" Saigo yelled, attracting the attention of some particularly rowdy-looking Big Spider fighters. Saiai crossed her arms, and glared at the fighters, who immediately returned to their own business.

"Glad you super liked it; buy me more, and I'll do it again!" Saiai offered, but Saigo chuckled, and waved Saiai's enthusiasm away, before his enormous, meaty hand returned to the wooden edge of the pool table.

"Chickadee, any man who has to get a woman drunk ain't a man; that ain't a man, that's a boy!" Saigo responded, as he grasped at a nearby pool cue. "Wanna play? Don't rightly know where Musujime went off to, and until she gets her tight little ass, and her man's less tight, less little ass back in 'ere, neither of us are drinkin'."

"Don't super remind me," Saiai grumbled. "I super like to get tipsy before I get fucked, not the other way around, it just super doesn't work."

"Kinuhata, ya need to watch yourself out here, here bein' everywhere in Academy City," Saigo spoke in a softer, almost fatherly tone. "Don't want to hear about ya gettin' hurt, or worse. I know ya have needs, and you're not in a position to 'ave a boyfriend, but… be careful, baby."

Saiai shrugged, and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I super appreciate the sentiment, I guess, but you don't have to worry about me. I've super dealt with "those types" of guys before."

"I found the Idiot!" Awaki proclaimed, as she stepped out down from the staircase that looked to lead to a second floor, or perhaps to the ruined toy store above the dive bar. Her flannel shirt was halfway unbuttoned, revealing a low-cut white top. Awaki's hair was somewhat ruffled.

In Awaki's right hand, she held the left hand of her fiancé – a well-muscled man who was at least two or three heads taller than the six foot one Musujime Awaki. Of North American descent, he had a head of medium-length hair, the front of which was side-swept, and a light, neatly-trimmed beard that covered his face. His facial structure made Saiai's knees weak; to Saiai, it looked like something from the pages of a fashion magazine. It looked to be just the right shape to the petite esper. He was clad in a dark, loose-fitting leather jacket, which, like Awaki's flannel shirt, was almost halfway unbuttoned, revealing a light blue shirt beneath it, neither of their collars upturned, dark sweatpants that had two long, bright white stripes on either side, which stopped at the top of either the pants' pockets, and continued starting at the bottom of each, and a pair of light blue trainers, whose laces were white. As Saiai eyed the man up and down, she licked her lips, and imagined him being inside of her. It caused heat to course through the mercenary's form.

Awaki gave her fiancé a playful shove, which caused him to stumble. "Go tend the bar; there's customers waiting, Russ."

"Bitch," he jokingly snapped back, as Awaki returned to the pool table that Saigo and Saiai remained at. Buttoning up her shirt, Awaki raised her eyebrows at Saiai, and motioned her head towards the bar. "I take my eyes off the lug for a minute, and he goes and takes a nap," the Move Point user grumbled.

"Thanks, Musujime. I'm super dying of thirst here, like I just super walked through the desert," Saiai complained as she made her way to the bar, leaving Saigo and Awaki to finish their game.

As the sounds of cues clacking against orbs of hard plastic, and the excited shouts of her fellow patrons rang out around her, Kinuhata Saiai pulled out the same metal stool she had pulled out when she had first arrived at the Sozzled Schoolgirl, and sat down upon its flattened cushion. Crossing one leg over the other for the second time that night, Kinuhata Saiai clicked her fingernails against the wooden bar, as she looked up at Musujime Awaki's fiancé.

He looked down at her, and then leaned down to match her line of vision. "Kinuhata? Long time no see. What's been keeping you away? Service can't be that bad, cut your boy some slack."

"I've been super busy, too busy to come in and get myself hammered; that ends today. You have cola? Super mix me some cola with vodka, lots, and lots of vodka, Musujime-san," Saiai commanded.

"Yeeeeup, just gimme a jiff. You gonna be staying around for a while?" Russ inquired, as he turned his back to Saiai, and bent down. Reaching to a mini fridge that Saiai was able to see beneath the first rack of empty bottles, Russ produced a two-liter bottle of cola, and a glass bottle of vodka. Placing both onto the counter and opening them, Russ swiftly, and with great precision and skill, mixed Kinuhata Saiai a drink. Handing the drink to Saiai, Russ placed both the cola and vodka back into the mini-fridge.

"Maybe, it super depends," the petite esper stated as she began to chug her drink. She eventually pulled it away from her lips, and set it down on the bar. "The Big Spider guys are super lame, and as much as I wish you weren't, you're super taken," Saiai lamented.

"Uh… huh." Russ muttered uncomfortably. "Yeah, I'm not about being an unfaithful dicklord, you know? My Awaki's been through enough, I wouldn't fuck her over like that."

"Wasn't saying you were super going to, loverboy," Saiai remarked as she finished her drink, and then proceeded to burp.

Russ gave a shrug, and, attempting to change the subject, brought up a new topic of conversation. "You been keeping up with the Daihaseisai? I haven't really gotten the chance to check in with what's happening."

"They still super have the Daihaseisai? People are out here dying, getting kidnapped, ro-man is out beating up his brothers, and his brothers are out beating other people up, and Academy City's still doing the Daihaseisai? Everything's super backwards-assed in this place," Saiai ranted.

"Ro-man…? Brothers? You can't be buzzed already, Kinuhata," Russ mumbled. "Funny business aside, I'm not disagreeing with you. That money could be used to, I dunno, stop people from getting goddamn kidnapped and murdered? I guess people need something to distract themselves with, but I feel there's a lot that could be going differently. It's not right, what Academy City's doing."

"Ladies and fucks, I'm headin' 'em on out!" Saigo exclaimed. Saiai turned back to face the tall, obese man, and Russ looked on.

"Can you super drive? You look like you're done for the night," Saiai commented.

"Drive? Heck no, Kinuhata, baby, I'm bunkin' with a buddy. Can't really walk outside the Strange, unless I want to lose my other eye!" Saigo said, laughing all the while, as if the idea of having his other eye gouged out was the funniest thing he'd thought of all night.

"You know I could just teleport you, right? All you have to do is say the word, you crazy old bastard," Awaki commented, as she placed her pool cue against the table she'd been playing at. As the Move Point user bent over, her fiancé moved slightly, in an attempt to get a better view. Saiai groaned, and finished what remained of her drink.

"No, no way! I'll walk, baby! Good for me to walk!" Saigo exclaimed.

"Super take it easy, Saigo; watch your back," Saiai spoke, raising a hand in the air. Saiai waved it gently from side to side, and then let it fall back to her side.

"Kinuhata, baby, it's everyone else who gots to worry! I sit on someone, and that's it! Haha! Who says being a fat slob doesn't have its advantages?!"

With that, the lumbering form of Saigo, whose footfalls shook the earth beneath him, viciously shoved himself through the door that lead back to the outside world. His obese, fleshy body nearly got stuck in the door, and, for a moment, Awaki thought that she might've had to make good on her offer to teleport the overweight, hulking man.

"Well, shit. Everything just got a lot quieter, and boring-er," Russ commented, as he began to attempt to clear the overflowing mound of dishes from the sink behind the bar.

Saiai, who had turned around to say her farewells to Saigo, began to scan her eyes over some of the other patrons. Most were Big Spider fighters, though, given her experience in the field, Saiai was able to discern a few of her fellow patrons to be bounty hunters, or possibly fellow mercenaries.

Those who served in Big Spider's pseudo-militia were armed, mostly with semi or fully automatic weaponry; those who were self-employed had the superior weaponry. Saiai recognized pre-Fall laser rifles strapped to the backs of one or two of her fellow patrons, and, hanging from the belt of another, the petite esper discerned a deployable "trap" that produced the dreaded Capacity Down frequency. None of these men looked to be the type to sate Saiai's lust.

"Kinuhata, are you feeling alright? You got really quiet, all of a sudden," Awaki said; sitting herself on the stool next to Saiai, the Move Point user, like Saiai, crossed one leg over the other, and placed an elbow against the bar. Propping her chin up with her hand, Awaki turned to Saiai, and raised an eyebrow.

"Super checking out what's on the menu," Saiai responded. She turned back to face the bar, and sighed. "Nothing I super like, tonight. You've got to fix this place up, get some hot guys in here."

Awaki chuckled softly, and Russ, who continued to clean the pile of dishes, shook his head and laughed along with his fiancé. Saiai wasn't anywhere near as amused, though she allowed herself to grin.

Kuroko emerged from the eleventh dimension, her booted feet touching the concrete ground of the mostly flat, and almost entirely desolate school district twenty-two. Having given herself a short enough break for her tired mind to properly rest, Kuroko was able to travel through the eleventh dimension freely, so long as she spaced out her instances of teleportation.

Not far behind her, the sentient combat machine Devastator followed. The hydraulics in its legs, which allowed it to both run and jump at superhuman speeds and heights, respectively, ensured that it kept up, for the most part. Though there had been the odd structure for Devastator to climb atop, and then leap from, most likely containing power generators used for the underground facilities that laid meters beneath the district's surfaces, they were few and far between. Kuroko, someone who didn't spend any lengthy amounts of time in school district twenty-two, thought the district resembled one gigantic runway more than a "school district".

"You probably know this place better than I do, Anti Skill doesn't usually have much of a reason to send people here," Kuroko stated, as she gave Devastator the time it needed to catch up to her.

"Underground facilities, originally intended to be used in cases of too many… children… being created," Devastator answered, as it skidded to a halt. "As much as I'd like to find out whose human rights are being violated beneath the earth, Deputy, we've got places to be."

"You never did tell me where "we're" supposed to be going," Kuroko pointed out. "Uiharu said something about the Reformatory in district ten? Something about Supirium? I thought that stuff was just an urban legend."

Devastator chuckled, as it raised a hand and motioned towards the bordering district ten, whose ruined, crumbling skyscrapers could be seen blotting out Academy City's night skyline. "I'm certainly no 'urban legend'; what do you think I'm made of?" It rhetorically asked.

Kuroko crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow, suspiciously. "If Supirium is, well, real… and you're made of Supirium, why would you need more?"

"Why do you wear clothing, Deputy?"

Kuroko's lips parted slightly, and, with an embarrassed huff, she closed them back together. "I think I understand. I'm sorry, I… speaking of clothing," Kuroko began, attempting to change the topic of conversation to something that made her feel less idiotic, "didn't we agree that you'd get a disguise?"

"Correct, and I'll need one even more, once I have a new shell; most clothing is far too small for me, especially those belonging to the specimens in 'these 'ere parts'. We'll cross that bridge when we get there, Deputy. For now, let's continue on our merry way," Devastator responded. It leaned in, and Kuroko unwittingly took a step back. The metallic monstrosity turned its back to Kuroko, and, with a great leap, sprung back into action. It soared through the air, and once its two-toed feet touched the ground, it broke into a sprint. Kuroko sighed, and, performing the necessary calculations, teleported in the machine's direction.

The two continued on their way for some time; Kuroko, as infrequently as she could manage, teleported, but spent the majority of her trip sprinting after the untiring machine. Kuroko wondered to herself as to whether or not it was capable of flight, and, if it was, why it had chosen to remain grounded. On one or two occasions, the metallic monstrosity had found more structures to leap from; each time it slammed into the ground from on high, more of its body armor seemed to fall off, and more than once, Kuroko pointed this fact out; the machine didn't seem to be concerned.

Eventually, after a long, and uneventful trip through the relatively small and, to Shirai Kuroko, appallingly flat and unremarkable school district twenty-two, the Anti Skill officer and the sentient combat machine arrived at the border of the district.

Kuroko was prepared to teleport over the wall and into the warzone that was school district ten, but, rather, Devastator shook its head, and then motioned towards the wall, as if to say "look what I can do!" The metallic monstrosity raised its wrists, and from the black wired boxes that were mounted on them, it fired two particle streams. Kuroko's eyes widened as the streams tore through the metallic, graffiti-covered wall, and created a large, jagged hole.

"Not climbing over that, Deputy. Besides, why not let the locals know we've arrived?" It inquired, as it proceeded nonchalantly towards the hole it had created, its body humming in the deafening silence.

"Couldn't you have just jumped over?" Kuroko pried, quite annoyed at the display.

"Could've, but didn't. Free will is a beautiful thing," the metallic monstrosity retorted as it leapt through the hole. Kuroko performed a swift mental calculation, and traveled through the eleventh dimension in order to avoid the wall. Appearing on the other side, the change in geography was almost stunning. If school district twenty-two was a barren, mostly featureless wasteland, school district ten was a wasteland of a very different kind.

"I'll never get used to this place, the way it looks… it just got worse as time passed," Kuroko muttered.

"This district, and the people who call it home, have their uses, Deputy," Devastator remarked, having apparently heard the Anti Skill officer's vocalized musings. "There's one in particular; I don't have skin, but if I did, she'd make it crawl. A frustratingly ignorant little gun for hire named Kinuhata, as you previously predicted, like all mercenaries, is rumored to do her business here. If she's not here, she'll come to us, of that I'm certain."

"How can you be so sure?" Kuroko asked, sounding unsure. She folded her arms, and looked about; her vision scanned over dark balconies, shielded from the moonlight, and over shadowy allies that lurked between apartment complex and shops. As always, Kuroko was prepared to teleport to safety at a moment's notice.

The metallic monstrosity approached Shirai Kuroko, and, with a single finger outstretched, pointed down at her pants pocket. "Could I borrow that, Deputy?"

Kuroko produced her phone, unlocked it, and handed it off to the machine, who, clenching it cautiously between its metal digits, opened the phone's e-mail app.

"Not the most secure of locations, but you can zip off, if need be, Deputy, and the puppets… at this rate, you'd expect the puppets to know their place." Devastator remarked, as it began to, at speeds that made even the tech-savvy Kuroko's head spin, type up a message. Before long, it carefully handed the device back to Kuroko, who pocketed it.

"We're not just going to wait here for a reply, are we?" Kuroko asked, her brow already furrowing as she began to anticipate the answer.

"By no means; candidly speaking, Kinuhata Saiai's assistance isn't a requirement, but a convenience. With you, I have all the support I need; the specimens at this Reformatory, if any, will likely be little better trained than a potato," Devastator responded. The response surprised Shirai Kuroko, who breathed a sigh of relief at the revelation.

"I'll let you know if I get anything in reply, until then, let's… continue, I guess? We're here now." Kuroko spoke, as she produced two of her hideously sharpened daggers.

Devastator looked to the horizon, and gave a quick nod. "Time isn't imperative, per say, but I'd like to arrive in a timely fashion, Deputy; I'll make my way there on my own, and, if I happen to outmanoeuver you, I'll be sure to alert you to my presence. For the time being, I'll only be slowing you down."

Kuroko offered a nod of her in response; one second, she stood before the metallic monstrosity. The next, she had vanished with a sharp, sudden noise that rang through the "auditory relayers" in Devastator's wireframe head. True to its word, the machine continued on its own.

Devastator leapt from the ground, and to a nearby apartment complex's balcony; grasping onto the balcony's edge, it effortlessly lifted its body up, and proceeded to leap from balcony to balcony, flashing by two or three stories with each leap, until it reached the complex's roof. Like a macabre, broken holiday icon made of metal, Devastator sprinted across, and leapt from roof to roof.

Shirai Kuroko, with two of her daggers clutched in her left hand, and her smartphone in her right, had perched herself some twenty meters away from school district ten's ruined Reformatory. The Reformatory, the first of its kind to have been built in Academy City, was an ugly-looking, decrepit structure. The Reformatory looked like one enormous rectangle, that had a series of smaller rectangles latched onto it, and more rectangles attached to those. Kuroko was reminded of some haphazardly slapped together piece of "craftsmanship" that would've impressed the parent, or parents of a small child. Its windows were illuminated by golden, synthetic light, which surprised the Anti Skill officer; she assumed that most, if not all facilities in school district ten had their power disconnected long ago.

The Reformatory was surrounded by crumbling, razor wire-covered walls that, of all the structures in school district ten, were likely the worst hit by vandals. The Reformatory itself spanned over hundreds of feet, and, to Kuroko, resembled some type of foundry more than it did a former penitentiary.

The Reformatory's exterior was mostly light brown in coloration, and, from where she sat, Kuroko couldn't tell if the Reformatory's exterior was made of metal that had completely rusted over, or if it was made of brick; the Anti Skill officer reasoned that the former was more likely. At the Reformatory's highest point, which wasn't all that high at all, there was what appeared to be a closed, rusted over metallic dome. It was enormous, and, to Kuroko, it stuck out like a sore thumb. The contraption didn't look like it belonged there at all.

The Anti Skill officer had taken up vigil behind a billboard that sat upon the roof of a decrepit-looking, multi-story drugstore. The billboard depicted a smiling, wide-eyed, blonde-haired model who acted as the viewers' subliminal prod for a beauty product of unknown origin; a can of what appeared to be hairspray was held in her closed right hand, though the name of the product had been tagged over, and replaced with "WILLIE ENHANCER".

"lol?! Ro-man?! Is that actually you?! I saw you on TV! Are you still out being creepy? Need something done? Omg I'm so bored. Reply fast!"

Kuroko had spent a fair amount of time looking down at the message, not feeling entirely sure how she would reply. More than once her fingers had formed words, and more than once she'd erased entire paragraphs. At this point, she had a reply typed up, but still wasn't sure whether or not it was send-worthy.

"That was "ro-man"; this is Shirai. It and I are working together, so to speak. It's interested in having your help."

Kuroko's thumb hovered just above the "send" icon of her e-mail app. It spun in place, and then fell to the phone's side, just beyond its touchscreen, as Kuroko furrowed her brow in contemplation.

"Kinuhata… you were part of ITEM, the group that tried to kill my... girlfriend. Maybe, in the end, you didn't turn out to be all bad, but I can never truly forgive you for you, or perhaps your benefactor's plans. You're still a murderer, you still kill for coin. Granted, in this case, killing these types of people is the only option.

Is it really, Kuroko? Is this what you were taught in Judgment? When someone's a wrongdoer, you just kill them? Is that really justice?

It doesn't matter; this isn't Judgment, and this isn't the Academy City that Judgment existed in. For Misaka Mikoto, for my electric princess, for my girlfriend, and for our future, I'll work with you."

Kuroko's finger pressed down on her phone's tempered glass screen, where the "send" icon was. The e-mail was sent, placed into the outbox. Seconds later, a small, yellow circle formed next to the message, and, within the circle, a little white orb began to spin. It spun for a few moments before the circle, and the orb within vanished; they were replaced by a large yellow checkmark.

Without warning, a booming crash broke the relative silence of school district ten; Kuroko's head whipped around, her ears following the source of the crash. Kuroko's vision fell upon a sight that caused her heart to begin to move at a quicker pace. A tall, multi-story structure which Kuroko couldn't quite visualize due to the night's blanket of darkness, came crumbling down, as OFFICER Network drones, flanked by airborne robotic officers descended upon the disaster's area of effect. Two streams of orange-colored light ripped apart the waves of OFFICER Network machines, causing metallic debris to rain from the sky. The streams moved about like precision lasers, dissecting the Network's forces as they descended.

"Ro-man, are you pulling my leg? I like having certain parts of me pulled but you're not my type… I like human beings. Whatever, even if you're messing with me I'm in, as long as you've got money."

What followed was considerably more unnerving for the Anti Skill officer to witness. The metallic dome atop the Reformatory's roof began to creak open; it was so loud that, even over the sounds of the OFFICER Network's canned warnings and demands for immediate surrender, it dominated. Bright, golden synthetic light emerged from the opening dome, pushing away the night's blanket of darkness.

Once the dome had opened completely, both sides of the contraption folding open like the gaping maw of an animal trap, what appeared to be an enormous, metal-covered scorpion wasp rose up. Its head was long, narrow and lacked a face; the head had a singular antenna on either of its sides. Two great, translucent wings, that were beating against the air at speeds beyond Kuroko's visual comprehension emerged from the construct's back. From the twisted thing's thorax, a total of six, long, spindly legs hung limp, dangling.

The feature that caught Kuroko's attention, even more so than the rest of the thing, was the long, narrow pod-like protrusion that emerged from its thorax. The pod's interior was scarlet red, and appeared to have a sheet of translucent glass placed over it. At the very tip of the pod was a long, jagged stinger, that shined as it was bathed in the golden light that emerged from the Reformatory's dome.

Shirai Kuroko, as swiftly as her shaking hands could manage, began to type up a reply to Kinuhata Saiai.

"District 10. Reformatory. Get here."

Devastator backhanded a nearby robotic police officer, and then proceeded to crush the construct's head between its hands, before it blasted a group of drones from the sky. As their remains rained down on the sentient combat machine, it looked to the metallic scorpion wasp that had, not moments ago, emerged from what Devastator knew to be the Reformatory. "Well, aren't you an interesting-looking doohickey?" It asked, its inquiry aimed at no one in particular.

As the metallic scorpion wasp neared, Devastator prepared itself. It began to pummel a group of nearby OFFICER Network puppets, its fists flying and, upon impact, instantly crushing the heads and torsos of the automatons, as it moved from puppet to puppet. The last construct of the group was swatted away by Devastator's skeletal, metallic arm, and it met its end as it was torn in two, roughly near the center of its torso and waist.

To Devastator's surprise, the OFFICER Network immediately turned its full attention entirely to the metallic scorpion wasp as it closed the distance between itself and the Network's armada. Drones began to fire their lasers at it, and robotic officers' automatic weapons rattled as streams of ammunition shot forth from their barrels. "FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT" HAS BEEN DETERMINED TO HAVE FALLEN INTO HOSTILE HANDS. MOVING TO ELIMINATE FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT," the OFFICER Network's battalion rambled off as one.

"Now I'm feeling neglected; I see how it is. Someone new shows up, and I'm old news to you." Devastator stated. "I'll have to win your attention, won't I?"

The sentient combat machine raised one of its wrists, aligned the wired box atop it to the Network's drones, and issues the internal command for the weapon to unleash its payload. It did so with hesitation, and a particle stream swept through them. Robotic officers turned their attention back to Devastator, only to be torn apart as the stream passed through their forms. FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT" jabbed at the OFFICER Network's armada with its stinger, and swiped at them with its limbs. With FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT" and Devastator combining their efforts, the Network battalion was reduced to heaps of metallic scrap in under a minute.

FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT" landed, its long, spindly limbs somehow able to support its body, with a thud that shook the ground beneath Devastator's feet. Its wings folded behind its back, and, from a series of speakers in the thing's head, vocalizations were produced.

"H-hey there! You're trespassing. You obviously ain't with the robot Network, but you're still a… a robot? Too many robots! Way too many! What do you want?! Go away!"

Devastator produced a cold, inhuman 'chuckle', and began to walk towards the grounded FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT". Its body hummed, and its two-toed feet clanked against the cracked, broken pavement as silence began to descend once again.

"A certain cowardly snitch informed me that this Reformatory is a location in which I should be able to "find", and by "find", I mean "pilfer", a fair amount of Supirium. Is my information correct?" Devastator mockingly pried, as it continued to close the distance between itself and the metallic scorpion wasp; the sentient combat machine held its head high.

FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL_OUT" rushed forwards, and no further vocalizations were produced. Devastator met it head-on with glee, though its faceless wireframe head was incapable of properly expressing it; the sentient combat machine was going to enjoy itself oh so much.


	23. A Certain Battle At The Reformatory II

Kinuhata Saiai cracked her knuckles. The stool she had been sitting on was pushed against the bar. Running her tongue over her bottom lip, she turned to Musujime Awaki.

"Musujime, are you super in? It's action! Action! I'm sure ro-man will super pay you too, he's like a big, creepy, metal sugar daddy; but instead of having to give quick fucks, he just pays you to beat people up!" Saiai excitedly explained.

Awaki, who remained on her stool at the bar, shook her head. As she rapidly twirled her military flashlight, the redhead produced a frustrated sigh. "I don't involve myself in current events; you know that, so why are you even asking, Kinuhata?" Awaki pried. "After GROUP, I was done, and I'm sticking to my guns."

Saiai pouted, but decided not to press the issue; the last thing she wanted to do was anger the stubborn Musujime Awaki. Saiai figured that, even if there wasn't a lot Awaki could do to her if push came to shove, Move Point was a useful ally, one she didn't want to lose. "What about you, loverboy?" Saiai inquired, turning to Russ; he turned to face Saiai, and offered a shrug.

"Reformatory? That place is heat. Hypothetically, I'd need at least a dozen men to hit it, military grade gear, flashbangs for good measure, and, if word on the streets is correct, we'd get all… strung up, mentally controlled." Russ pointed to the side of his head, and, with the tip of his finger, tapped it. "If you go there, aren't you going to get strung up, too? Don't think that Offense Armor of yours stops brainwashing abilities."

Kinuhata Saiai raised an eyebrow. "I've super heard about that, too, but we'd just have to figure out the ability's range of affect, and stay out of that range. Takitsubo… I mean, Hamazura, not the stupid one, the super cute mom, would be super useful."

Still, Awaki shook her head, much to Saiai's annoyance. "Good luck with that; I, for one, will be staying right here. I join up with you, and the next thing I know, I'll be getting dragged around with the lolicon and the pervert again."

"Tsuchimikado?" Russ inquired, as he scrubbed down the last of the dishes that remained in the sink. "He's still a dead man; he'd best not forget."

"Relax." Awaki firmly stated; to Saiai, it seemed like more of a command than a suggestion.

"You're a bitch."

"And you're an asshole."

The two broke into laughter, as Saiai watched on. She shrugged indifferently, but she said her goodbyes, and took her leave. This was fine by Kinuhata Saiai; this meant there was more money for her.

FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" charged Devastator, who awaited it with open arms. Its eyes, most of its neck, along with its torso and legs began to glow red, rather than cyan. Within seconds, the two machines clashed, metal against metal. Devastator's fist flew, and met the head of FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT", resulting in an ear-splitting clanging sound being produced, as sparks flew from the point of impact. Devastator was forced backwards as FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT's" wings began to beat, and it began to push back. Slowly, at first, they beat against the air, but before long they were quickly picking up speed.

Before it had the chance to rise up from the ground, Devastator took the initiative to leap at it; hydraulics in the monstrous machine's legs sprung into action as it closed the distance between itself and FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT".

It almost didn't get the chance. FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT's" legs slashed wildly at the air; rather than allowing itself to be knocked aside, Devastator gripped onto the first of two outstretched limbs, and clung to it tightly with one metallic hand. As FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" attempted to toss Devastator from its shaking extremities, the sentient combat machine began to hear the sickeningly sweet sounds of dying men. Their cries sounded forced, almost, as if their minds registered the pain they were experiencing, but didn't have the means to properly convey that pain.

"What's going on out there?! Mistress's men are… d-dying! They're being… K-k… k-killed!" The voice produced by FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" proclaimed. To Devastator, not only did it sound terrified, but it sounded as if the individual responsible for the vocalizations was on the verge of tears. Then, it changed. The voice became monotone, calm, collected, and equally calculating. The tonal shift interested the sentient combat machine.

"I don't know who or what you are, or where you came from; but, on this night, you've made a grave mistake. By involving yourself in my affairs, by moving into my territory, you've given me no choice but to… deal with you."

"I'm simply terrified. I'm as big of a fan of passive aggressive threats as the next mind-controlling, button-pressing coward, but there's but one problem; I'm beyond what feats your mind can perform. I'll see you soon," Devastator sarcastically remarked as it began to climb the limb it was dangling from.

Still, all of FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT's" limbs were violently slashing about. As if compelled by some wild force, the construct crashed against a nearby apartment complex. Its beating left wing began scraping against the apartment complex's rusted, metallic walls, as Devastator continued to climb. The construct pulled away from the complex, and then took to the skies. It flew upside down, and twirled about, twisting, bathed beneath the moonlight. Devastator was nearly knocked loose more than once, as it struggled to grip onto the contorting limb.

FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" suddenly flew in a circular motion, directing itself towards the earth below. Without warning, the construct's beating wings took it in the direction of a nosedive. Devastator just barely reached the thrashing limb's highest point before FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" suddenly jerked away from the earth it had been mere inches away from, and took back to the skies.

FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT's" aerial antics continued, even as Devastator aimed its available wrist towards the construct's thin, spindly neck. Even as a particle stream tore FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT's" neck, and subsequently its head from its thorax, the construct didn't cease. The decapitated head went on a quick journey through the air as it plummeted, and then hit the ground below with a thud, the softness of which surprised the metallic monstrosity who had just delivered what it knew should've been the killing blow.

With swiftness that would've startled any human, FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" made another nosedive. This time, however, Devastator detached itself from the thrashing limb it had been clinging to, and freefell. It had made an interesting discovery; there appeared to be something inside of the crimson-colored pod attached to the construct's thorax.

Aiming both of its wrists towards the exact point in which the pod attached to the construct's thorax, Devastator, the metallic monstrosity, unleashed two particle beams as it continued to plummet towards the ground. FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" managed to just barely avoid both by rolling, and then swerving to one side; the pod was unharmed, though the airborne construct lost two of its dangling extremities. FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" seemed to be onto Devastator, or at least, the metallic monstrosity assumed it was, as the airborne construct looked to be engaging in a series of evasive manoeuvers.

Devastator hit the ground, two-toed feet first. The earth shattered and broke beneath it; a storm of destroyed asphalt exploded outwards from the point of impact, pelting nearby structures. As more body armor flaked away from Devastator and hit the ground, revealing close to the entirety of the machine's skeletal frame, Devastator casually strolled forward, as the airborne construct, FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT", lurked above, wings beating.

"Release yourself from that chamber, and then we can see who is the stronger; of course, I'm certain we both know the answer!" Devastator taunted, as it fired two particle streams. FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" evaded both, but the streams followed. Devastator felt itself being pelted with gunfire from somewhere behind it, but it paid the nuisance no mind. Rather, it focused entirely on ensuring that its wrists followed the exact movements of the airborne construct.

It was then that the unexpected occurred; FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" suddenly swerved not above, or away from the particle streams, but beneath them. It soared, and then fell into yet another nosedive. It adjusted its trajectory at the last minute, barely avoiding the earth. It rose up, metallic stinger at the ready. If Devastator was capable of expressing a grin in its damaged state, it would've expressed a wide, predatory one. Two particle streams met the airborne construct's thorax, and tore through it like a pair of scissors through paper.

From the crimson pod, a vaguely human-like form was ejected, as a wide, whitish-yellow parachute exploded out from their back. The empty pod flew forward at blinding speeds, and was hurled at Devastator's form, ready for a head-on collision; its stinger was set to make contact at any second. As the upper half of the suddenly pilotless FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT" crashed down to the asphalt below, the stinger continued to near Devastator; yet, the metallic monstrosity merely looked on.

Then, it did. It made contact. Its sharpened end gleamed beneath the moonlight just before it struck Devastator's upper torso. Devastator was pushed back from the sheer force of the blow, but didn't lose its balance as the stinger was violently bent to one side. The stinger bent, and it bent, until it could stand no more; it shattered, and then it cracked, unable to contend with the durability of Supirium. The stinger broke in two as the pod came to a rest against the earth at Devastator's feet. The monstrous machine turned towards, and then leapt at the descending once-pilot of the FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT". Closing the distance between itself and the once-pilot, Devastator realized that they had a firearm, and were firing back, not at the machine, but at those who continued to pelt Devastator with their own streams of gunfire.

Uiharu Kazari grappled with the screws that held the shiny, bronze-colored metallic toilet paper holder on the surface of the wall next to the ceramic, ornate sink in her room's bathroom, located left from the foot of her bed. The fingernail of Kazari's right hand's index finger was placed into the groove of the second of four screws. She twisted, and continued to twist, attempting do to her best to get the thing loose; she had, so far, dislodged one screw using this technique, though the fingernail of her left hand's index finger had been broken in the process, leaving her with eight more chances, eighteen if Kazari found a way get creative and channel her inner primate.

From inside the bathroom, Kazari could hear the repeated clicking of the button beneath her bed, and the sounds of Misaka Mikoto screaming for help, quite convincingly; Kazari figured that she'd been correct in her assumption that Tokiwadai taught acting classes, at least when Mikoto had attended. A smug grin stretched across Kazari's face as she pried the second of four screws from the toilet paper holder.

"Uiharu-san?! Uiharu-san, what's wrong?! I'm coming in! Hold on! Everything's going to be okay!"

"As luck would fucking have it," Kazari growled. It was that orderly. The concern in her voice made Kazari want to lean over the toilet and vomit up her "lunch", or what Kazari assumed was lunch. To the Thermal Hand user, if an orderly had told her it was a platter of toxic waste, she would've believed them. Kazari rose up, her left hand stuffed into slacks' left pocket. She brushed locks of feathery, dark hair away from her neck, and then placed her right hand into her right pocket. As she casually strolled out from the bathroom, Mikoto turned to face Kazari with a look of guilt. Kazari's own guilt tugged at one side of her, and her desire to succeeded, whatever that meant, or whatever that would entail, tugged at the other.

As the door closed behind the concerned-looking orderly, who had a group of four additional orderlies with her, Kazari removed a hand from her pocket, and waved casually, smiling with feigned warmness. "Everything's fine, sugarplum. Get that door open, or we're going to have… problems."

"But…"

"I told you to get the fucking door open. Escort the "Ace" and I, or four of you are going to end up as a series of names in the obituaries."

"Where's the OFFICER Network?!" One of the orderlies demanded, as he blocked the door with his body. He possessed no weapons, but, by Kazari's standards, and even by Mikoto's, he was large enough to hold his own.

"Not responding to distress calls, as usual," another grumbled. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Hold your horses," Kazari's "favorite" orderly stated, as she turned back to face her coworkers. She extended a hand, and motioned for her coworkers to barricade the door. They reluctantly the orders given to them, even if their commander was a commander in-name-only, and moved towards the room's door. "Uiharu-san? Talk to me, please. What's happening here? We received repeated emergency notifications, but… is something happening? Was there a disagreement? Were you trying to hurt yourself? Please don't."

Kazari gritted her teeth, and forced back a rant. "Are you deaf, blind, or both? I just told you. I want that door open, and I want an escort, and I want it now."

Kazari rolled her shoulders as she took a step forward; the orderlies' lack of an immediate response aggravated her. "You have two more chances; this first step of mine was chance number three."

"Uiharu-san…"

"Shut up. No words."

Kazari took a step, as Mikoto struggled with herself. How, and when would she intervene? Whose side would she take? Mikoto reasoned that the answer should've been obvious; she should try to keep Kazari here, but was that the answer? Would that help Mikoto in this nameless quest, the goal of which was so vague and open to skepticism that she hardly knew why she was even trying? What would this pseudo-rebellion she'd somehow found herself involved in come to be? What would the end result of her involvement be?

Another step. "One more chance."

Kazari's golden-brown eyes locked with her "favorite" orderly's own eyes. The older woman could see into them, as they, and the body they were part of, neared her; they were windows that depicted only Uiharu Kazari's malice. Kazari's lips curled into a scowl, and her brow furrowed.

Then, Kazari threw her fist, with suddenness that made Mikoto jump. The orderly quickly raised her hands to her face, and deflected the blow, as she reached out for Kazari with a deeply sympathetic look on her face. Kazari stepped back, and threw another punch. Again, it was deflected, and the other orderlies moved in to secure the room.

Misaka Mikoto sprung into action. Consciously thinking no longer, and allowing only her deepest animal thoughts to guide her movements, something she knew was a terribly irresponsible thing to do, Mikoto swept Kazari's "favorite" orderly off her feet with a swift, forceful kick to her lower legs, and threw a punch that would've made Touma proud, if it had been thrown at a very different target at an orderly who approached with intent to restrain her. As the orderly moved to deflect the blow, Mikoto reeled back, and faked him out. With not one, not two, not three, but four repeated blows to the orderly's gut, he fell.

"Tell me where your keycard is, you ignoramus, and I won't have to kill you. I know that shit around your neck isn't the keycard. Too obvious," Kazari hissed into her "favorite" orderly's ear; her hands were wrapped around the orderly's throat, but not nearly enough to restrict the orderly's breathing, or prevent her from speaking in response. The remaining orderlies, excluding the bigger fellow, who had attempted to flee the room in search of help, and had subsequently been brought to the ground by a series of Chasers, continued to struggle against Mikoto, who could more than handle herself. One orderly attempted to rush for the emergency button beneath Kazari's bed, but he was swiftly subdued, leaving one for Mikoto to content with.

"Wallet, in my back pocket… Uiharu-san, why…?"

"I told you to shut up."

Kazari dug around in the orderly's back pockets, with one of her hands remaining around the orderly's neck. Kazari's fingers landed on something thick and leathery. She removed the object with a yank, and found, in her hand, a plain, hot pink wallet made of leather, which Kazari proceeded to sift through. Seconds passed before she found what appeared to be the door's keycard.

"Keycard, yes?"

The orderly nodded, as Kazari handed her wallet back to her with a snarl. "Go home to your husband, or your wife, or your whatever. I don't care. If you were smart, you wouldn't even be in Academy City."

The orderly's frown deepened, as Kazari pocketed the card, and rose up from her form. Mikoto had neutralized the last of the older woman's coworkers through nonlethal means, though she still appeared to be deeply troubled. The Railgun cast her gaze to Kazari. She looked absolutely miserable.

"What does that make you, Uiharu-san?"

"An idiot, obviously."

Kazari nodded her head in Mikoto's direction, and motioned towards the door to her room. "Leave them be; they'll be fine, as long as you didn't hit them too hard… even if you did, who cares? Self-defense."

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." Mikoto muttered, as she followed behind Uiharu Kazari, who slid her pilfered keycard through the magnetic security device that kept the door tightly locked. As the keycard was swiped through the large, rectangular device, a small, blinking red light turned to solid green, and the device clicked.

"Buck up," Kazari commanded. "Maybe the Agitate Halation Project's end goals wouldn't have been such a bad idea, with the benefit of hindsight, if it would've prevented Academy City from being filled with cretins like yourself, "Ace".

Shirai Kuroko found herself at the end of her rope. She remained behind the cover of what she assumed was once a building – Kuroko could hardly tell. Little was left of it aside from what appeared to be a broken base, with lumps of loose, damaged bricks, and piles of twisted metal scattered about the damaged concrete floors. Putrid, stinking, heavily armored corpses surrounded her, and it took all of Kuroko's inner might to keep from vomiting. She had given them a brief glance when she had initially taken cover in this ruin – they all wore suits of Kevlar armor.

Only some minutes ago had the hail of gunfire, that had been threatening to tear her apart ceased to fly in her direction. Kuroko had taken a few seconds to release the emptied magazine from her scavenged weapon, and replaced it with another pilfered magazine, which, to Kuroko, felt nearly full. She breathed heavily, and she felt the natural exhilaration that she knew came with killing another human being slowly fading. The adrenaline coursing through Kuroko's veins left her shaking, and feverishly chuckling against her own will.

"It never gets easier… was told it "gets easier". Doesn't."

On vibrating legs that felt more like jellified sculptures than actual extremities, Kuroko rose. She just barely lifted her head, and the barrel of her weapon was sitting inches away from what, to Kuroko, looked to have once been a wall. Kuroko's brown eyes slid inside of their sockets, moving swiftly from side to side.

Kuroko began to step out from the ruin; her uneasy footfalls caused rubble to crack, and beneath Kuroko's boots, clumps of hardened dirt were crushed, as she moved her scavenged firearm from side to side, her finger sat gently against the weapon's cold, metallic trigger.

A deeply pained, anguished shriek rang out; it was so deafeningly loud that it dominated even the screams of machinegun fire. Kuroko's body began to shake to an even worse extent, as she heard another, and then another. To Kuroko, each sounded more tortured than the last. Machinegun fire continued to scream out in the night, seemingly coming from two different directions, and she heard it clang against metal. Kuroko would've teleported, but her mind was reeling. She could barely think of the calculations she needed to perform, let alone actually perform them.

Shirai Kuroko continued to walk. She willed her body to press on, even if she wanted to toss the weapon aside and simply weep as her ears were continually subjected to the sounds of suffering, dying human beings. Each individual gunshot that rang out caused Kuroko to jump as her nerves threatened to break. Tightly gripping the weapon's trigger with her right hand, and holding her left beneath its barrel, Kuroko staggered about. She began to fantasize, in an attempt to cope with the Hell unfolding around her.

Kuroko, in her mind's eye, saw Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun, her electric princess. In an unending, expansive, flat meadow of short, bright green grass and flowers, whose pedals were Gekota's round, green, smiling face, Misaka Mikoto was clad in a beautiful, flowing, sleeveless white dress. Mikoto's chestnut brown hair fell to her shoulders, straightened and glowing beneath warm, comforting sunlight.

In the meadow, Mikoto frolicked without a care in the world, a wide, ecstatic smile on her face. Mikoto's cheeks were bright pink, and her eyes were closed. She continued to run in circles, leaping, jumping for joy as she giggled, before she turned to face the dreamer, Shirai Kuroko. Mikoto smiled warmly, and offered Kuroko her open hand.

Tears poured from Kuroko's eyes, and dripped down her face, as her brow furrowed. Shirai Kuroko gripped her weapon tighter, and her frown deepened, not into one of sadness, but of determination.

Devastator pummeled the once-pilot of FIVE_Over Modelcase_"MENTAL OUT", repeatedly throwing its closed metallic fist into the once-pilot's head, until the pilot's arms and legs began to violently shake. His semiautomatic firearm, a rather unwieldly-looking pistol, was still clutched tightly in his hand, even as his fingers convulsed.

"You kill him, thinking that's the answer, that his death will end this macabre display; you're sadly mistaken," the surrounding individuals spoke at once. Clad in all shapes, types, and varieties of body armors, the de facto militia that had launched an all-out assault, first on Kuroko, had turned their weapons on the metallic monstrosity before them.

As the militiamen began to suddenly shake their heads and groan, as if released from a trance, one turned his weapon on his comrades, and began to fire at them wildly. His bullets tore through his once-allies' armored bodies, and the symphony of screams began anew. The turncoat was pulled aside by Devastator, whose hydraulic-powered arms tossed him away with great force. The turncoat's weapon fell from his hand before he hit the ground with a thud.

"A hero… or are you? You're quite the strange thing. A powered suit, with someone inside? Immune to my ability? Unthinkable. Artificial intelligence? Do you act at the behest of another? If you think you're going to save the day, you disgusting, broken thing, you're terribly and embarrassingly mistaken," another militiaman spoke.

"If you're a hero, or, if you think you're a hero… you should know that heroes aren't almighty. I am an example of such limitations," another continued.

"You'll be an example… an example of basic biology! I will find you, and I will carve you open with your own broken jaw, and rip your innards out! Manipulating, selfish creature. You give humans a bad name." Devastator snapped in response.

"Kill them all, and you'll leave me with no more pawns to throw against you. Such a simple action, yet, such a quandary. One of the many verses that makes the "hero's" lament-song," yet another militiaman spoke. "It's a shame that it's impossible for me to control you."

Shirai Kuroko, who was leaning against the remnants of a nearby bombed-out vehicle, had heard the entirety of the exchange. She sunk down, and began to slowly move away, attempting to make as little noise as humanly possible; Kuroko had never been affected by a mind-controlling ability before, and she didn't want to be.

Gathering her wits, Kuroko performed a series of calculations, and teleported as far away as she could; in her calculations, she'd 'visualised' the top of a crumbling structure, the same decrepit drugstore, with the defaced billboard. Kuroko's first action was to pull her phone from her pocket. In her shaking hands, the device sat. She unlocked it, and began to type up a text message; she had to backspace multiple times, as her unsteady fingers had created more than one typo.

"mikoto i love you. i love you i love you i love you. lets talk soon ok? i miss you."

Then, she typed up an e-mail.

"Kinuhata dont get too close to the reformatory. mind controller there. get back to me i have an idea."

Kinuhata Saiai, who had sat herself down comfortably atop a pile of recently deceased Skill Out bodies – a pile she'd made herself, specifically for the purpose of using as a seat, raised an eyebrow at the e-mail she'd gotten from Shirai Kuroko. The petite esper began to form a reply, as her small fingers danced across the screen of her phone.

"Give me a location! You want to rendezvous? I can't just know where you are! Reply fast!"

Saiai, while she waited for a response, kicked her legs back and forth, the backs of her heels repeatedly slapping against an, or multiple arms, Saiai couldn't visually tell, and didn't care enough to look down, and gazed out at the ruins of school district ten. The petite mercenary cocked her head to one side, and awkwardly sighed. "I super wonder if the rest of Academy City is going to look like this," she mused aloud. No answer came, unless Saiai suddenly chose to decide to count silence as an answer.

The petite esper's phone vibrated in her lap. She quickly unlocked it, and touched the notification that had popped up on the device's display.

"sending you a map with co-ords. about 20 meters away from reformatory atm, havent been controlled yet so i think the mind controllers range is limited."

Receiving the download, Saiai nodded in the direction of her phone. Kinuhata Saiai leapt down from her perch, and left the pile she'd made both as a reminder of her power, and as a way to mark her territory; this specific area of school district ten belonged to Offense Armor.

The great, rusted front gates of the Reformatory were ripped from the earth. Topped with razor wire, the gates' defensive mechanism did little to stop the metallic monstrosity. Both gates were tossed into the swarm of militiamen who continued to follow, and fire at Devastator. As they crashed into the front most row of armed gunmen, many were knocked down, and a handful had their lower bodies broken from the impact.

Even when continually pelted with gunfire that bounced against its form, causing bright orange sparks to frequently strobe against and illuminate the night's blanket of darkness, Devastator didn't stop. The metallic monstrosity bolted in the direction of the Reformatory's exposed front entranceway. Tall, surprisingly grand and almost entirely rusted, what non-rusted patches remained of the twin doors' surfaces were bright red. Devastator turned back to the militiamen, enslaved or otherwise, who continued to bathe it in a storm of lead.

"Can you see through them? Are you using them as special goggles, so to speak, to see beyond what your eyes can see? I'm going out on a limb here and guessing that you're hidden, tucked away in some room?" Devastator mockingly inquired.

"It'd be foolish of me not to be," the militiamen replied as one. A chorus of different-sounding voices, all monotone, and all equally calculating.

"Well, I'd argue that what you're doing as of right now is pretty "foolish"; I'm clearly not dying anytime soon. Let's agree to disagree?" The machine spoke, before it turned away from the militiamen, many of whom were beginning to run out of ammunition. Tossing their weapons away, those that had exhausted their weapons' magazines fell limp, while those that had lead remaining continued to fire at the metallic monstrosity before them.

Devastator continued where it had left off; it again broke into a run, and, wrists raised up, it fired two particle streams into the doors. When that didn't seem to work, as the streams were deflected by a semi-visible barrier that made itself known only when the streams touched it, Devastator crashed against the doors.

Its metallic body didn't suffer the same fate; it crashed through the doors without issue. Devastator didn't even feel resistance from the semi-visible barrier as its body crushed the Reformatory's doors. Devastator could both 'hear' and 'feel' fewer bullets pelting its skeletal frame, and 'heard' more and more militiamen tossing their weapons away, and falling unceremoniously to the ground. Devastator turned back for the second time, and watched as they fell, as if they were mere dolls whose owner had grown tired of playing with them.

As Devastator entered the Reformatory, its eyes' darkness adaption function automatically kicked into gear as a response to the oppressive blackness. The darkness was illuminated, and the colors of the world in front of Devastator were dulled. A series of scattered, moving bodies were highlighted in messy collages of red, orange, pink and yellow, based on the heat produced by their bodies.

Devastator had found itself in an odd room that vaguely resembled an antechamber. There were no cellblocks, but rather, there were rows of anti-riot gear that hung from the damp-looking, mould-covered walls. Shields, helmets, and abandoned MPS-79 suits, all of which hung from long, thick corroded metal hooks. Loose rods of metal hung from the metallic ceiling, as if they'd been pried loose.

Even if moonlight shined in through the entranceway, over the broken doors that were laid out haphazardly over the concrete floors, only infrequent, dirty orange light produced by what appeared to be small, wall-mounted orbs lit the inner halls of the Reformatory.

With its darkness adaption enabled, Devastator's eyes moved quickly from side to side within its wireframe head, as it made internal notes about its surroundings, and acknowledged each individual who was highlighted by the heat-sensing function of its darkness adaption. As its body hummed, and its metallic feet clanked against the concrete floors, it gained the attention of those who lurked. Their forms suddenly, all at once, jerked around to face Devastator.

"Leave." They commanded at once.

"Let's come to a compromise?" Devastator mockingly suggested, as it nonchalantly shrugged its shoulders, and raised its arms. "Supirium. I've heard you've got some. Want to share?"

"And threaten our…" the controlled individuals who surrounded Devastator ceased to speak, for a moment, before they continued where they left off. "And threaten HER livelihood? There're quotas to meet."

"Refusing me is also threatening your livelihood," Devastator pointed out. "Much more than losing some Supirium ever could."

The human puppets turned their weapons on Devastator, only to have their own forms suddenly ripped apart by incoming gunfire. Pouring into the Reformatory, and arriving behind Devastator, was the OFFICER Network. Drones flew around Devastator, who turned its particle streams on them, to blast away controlled militiamen with their lasers, while robotic police officers who weren't destroyed by Devastator pumped the human puppets full of lead.

The metallic monstrosity soon found itself faced again with the forces of the OFFICER Network, who turned their weapons away from the corpses they'd made of once-living people, and to Devastator's form. Devastator leaned forward, and prepared to charge them, before it had second 'thoughts'. Rather than doing so, it broke into a run in the opposite direction, as the Network trailed not far behind. With its wrists raised, it fired two particle streams into the secured metal door that was slowly growing nearer and nearer. Like the doors that lead into the Reformatory, they seemed to be protected by a semi-visible barrier that deflected the streams, and again, like the previous doors, they faltered and broke when Devastator's body crashed into them.

The metallic monstrosity dug its two-toed feet into the concrete, and skidded to a halt; a small burst of rubble was forced outwards as the machine did so. The first 'wing' of the interior of the Reformatory proper was an eyesore, even by the standards of an AI whose outer body had been almost entirely removed.

Rows of light blue metal doors were immediately evident. Spaced six or seven feet apart from one another, each floor of the Reformatory's interior, of which there seemed to be five, had cold, corroded metal walls whose surfaces were covered in these doors. On the first floor, large, snaking pipes, many of which were damaged and cracked snaked in and out of the walls, where there were no doors. Attached to the ceiling were more orbs, who produced their ineffective, but noticeable rays of dirty orange lights. Some of these orbs blinked infrequently, and without any sort of clear or predictable pattern, bathing the Reformatory's interior's first 'wing' in dull orange light that would occasionally be replaced by darkness, which would eventually be illuminated again.

As the OFFICER Network continued to pester Devastator, it leapt from the first floor of the first 'wing' and towards the third floor. Grasping onto a section of the corroded railing of the third floor, Devastator leapt to the third floor proper, and then blasted the Network's puppets with its particle streams. Some were destroyed, and their wiry, torn remains fell through the air, and unceremoniously struck the concrete of the first floor.

"Where are you, I wonder? Hiding from me, little mind-controller? Little memory-stealer, soft flesh. Hairless ape… Olly, Olly, oxen free! Let me take you on a trip to dreamland!" Devastator proclaimed, the volume of its synthetic vocalization significantly increased; it echoed throughout the Reformatory's first 'wing', even as more of the OFFICER Network's forces poured into the Reformatory. As if to answer the call, shots were fired at the machine from afar, not by the OFFICER Network, but by weapons wielded by human hands. Devastator moved to neutralize the singular militiaman, but, strangely, the individual waved their lightly armored hands, and motioned for Devastator to follow. The metallic monstrosity cocked its head, as it was blasted and pelted. The machine paid no mind to the assault on its form.

"When I DO find you, what will I do with you? What will, I, Devastator Mark One do? Kill you? No… that would upset the boy. One day, WHEN, not IF… WHEN he remembers, when the fungal infection is cured… when the Kiharas… when Creator is stopped, I'll have to tell him everything.

We'll be together again soon, champ. When you remember me, everything will be fixed, just the way you've always wanted it to be. No more pain, no more fighting, my little man… but before things can get better, they have to get worse. Your papa's going to have to do some bad things, and give into some evil thoughts."

Shirai Kuroko and Kinuhata Saiai had spent some time theorizing, and attempting to come up with some sort of attack plan; from their perch on the roof of the disheveled drugstore which had become something of a home away from home for Kuroko, in the Hell that was school district ten, they could both see the strewn-out bodies in front, and in the entrance of the Reformatory; they weren't bloodied, and they didn't appear to be broken. Both had come to the conclusion that "ro-man" hadn't gotten to them, or, if the metallic monstrosity had, it had knocked them unconscious.

"I super wish we could find some Deadlock guys; we could scavenge their suits. Immune to mind control, I super hear," Saiai grumbled, as she paced back and forth, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.

Shirai Kuroko, who had sat herself against the back of the defaced billboard, was about to respond, before she suddenly raised an eyebrow, and closed her lips.

"You, Shirai Kuroko, an officer of the law; an actual officer… interesting feelings you have. Even more interesting memories."

Kuroko held out a hand, as Saiai began to inquire as to why she was behaving so strangely. The Anti Skill officer shook her head, and raised her index finger. The petite mercenary shrugged, and piped down.

"You're the one manipulating all these people? Are you…?"

"Yes. She who was cast aside for another."

"What do you mean…?"

"Listen to me. I'm being held against my will. This, everything you're seeing before you? This isn't my doing! This orange-haired harlot is… can't talk. You're going to have to do something about the android, or power suit, something's coming. Have a plan. Steering it towards me, going to try and reason with them. Stop this harlot, and I'll be in your debt… officer."

Kuroko's voice once again became the only voice in her head, as she shook it from side to side. Kuroko shuddered, and wiped sweat from her brow.

"What's super up with you?" Saiai inquired, as she looked down at Kuroko. The teleporter looked weak, and unnerved. She looked like she'd just seen a ghost.

"Kinuhata, there's someone in there who needs our help. They just… spoke with me telepathically. They told me they're being held against their will, and that their captor is with them," Kuroko replied, her voice slowly regaining its usual steadiness. Hostage situations were something Shirai Kuroko could deal with.

"As long as ro-man's paying me," Saiai stated firmly. "I'm super not a charity." The petite esper then turned her vision to the looming, unsightly Reformatory some twenty meters away from their position. "Here's how we're super going to do this; you're going to stay behind me, or don't, I super don't really care. If you want to live, you'll super stay behind me."

Kuroko resisted the urge to spit on the ground, as well, she fought back the desire to cuss Saiai out. She gripped the petite esper's wrist in her hand, and, struggling to keep from forcing down on it, even if she knew it wouldn't harm the Offense Armor user, teleported the two away from the roof of the drugstore, and to the entrance of the Reformatory.

Devastator and the lone militiaman made their way, deeper and deeper into the lightless halls of the Reformatory. Having taken a passageway pointed out by the militiaman threw non-verbal means that lead from the fifth floor of the first 'wing', man and machine wound up in twisting passageway that lead from the 'first' wing to the second, and then to the third, in which it ended. The third 'wing' looked almost identical to the first, though its first floor had pipes that twisted and snaked in different directions, and were curled in different ways than their first 'wing' counterparts.

Hails of gunfire, and streams of lasers were unleashed around Devastator and the controlled militiaman. Devastator scooped the puppet up, and bent low, shielding his form from damage, as it broke into a run. Lasers fired by drones struck Devastator's back, and bullets pelted against it, as the militiaman held in its grip occasionally pointed a finger in the direction that the machine was, apparently, supposed to take.

"Officers engaging additional intruders at REFORMATORY_SCHOOL_DISTRICT_ . Delegating additional UNITs to assist in neutralizing additional intruders," nearby officers and drones blurted out, as some, but not all moved in the direction of the passageway Devastator and the militiaman had emerged from.

"Center," the militiaman spoke in a monotone voice. "Right. Go left. Reach center."

"I'll need better directions than that." Devastator responded as it clutched the militiaman in one arm, and blasted away OFFICER Network units with its available wrist's particle stream. "Why don't we ask someone?"

"Wall. Destroy." The response came. "Need help… in pain."

"And you've enlisted me, Devastator Mark One, to be your knight in shining armor? What, per say, do you expect me to do to help you? Already played this game once before, and all I got out of it was… a bauble. A trinket! I have trinkets coming out to wazoo! The past aside, you don't think I know a manipulator when I see one?!"

"Listen. Mercy."

Devastator turned its form to face the wall to its immediate left. There were a number of doors, all of which didn't appear to be unordinary, or in any way different from the other doors the metallic monstrosity had seen throughout the rest of the Reformatory.

"Mercy? I don't know. You're playin' with my heartstrings…"

"Held against will, will explain! I…" The militiaman was interrupted. He fell limp, no longer controlled, in Devastator's arm. Before the machine had the chance to 'think', there was a great rumbling that was produced from behind the wall to the metallic monstrosity's immediate left. The wall began to violently shake, and then crumbled, as the Reformatory was shaken to its base. Suffocating smoke emerged from the gaping maw-like hole that had once been part of a wall, and a great, snapping, silver clamp was shot outwards. Attached to what appeared to be a long, dark metallic rod, the clamp snapped at the air, before its source revealed itself.

Crashing through what remained of that section of the wall, and tearing multiple floors down with it, as it emerged, was what appeared to be an enormous, dark golden powered suit. Its enormous boot-like feet crushed the concrete, leaving behind wide, broken holes where they fell and then rose, and its long, golden and white-plated legs tore away more chunks of the walls as they guided its wide, square-shaped torso, and its long, straight, wide rectangular arms, the upper halves of which were golden, while the lower halves were white into the open. Two sets of hydraulics in either of its legs worked dutifully as the combat suit faced down Devastator.

Wicked laughter, full of mania, the utterer of which sounded as if they suffered from some psychotic detachment from reality that would've made Devastator blush, if it were capable of doing so, was produced from within the suit. The vocalization sounded tinny, and somewhat muffled, but its words could be discerned by Devastator nonetheless. "Amata should've taught his bastard child to pick up his toys, when he's finished with them!"

Devastator let its head fall back, at it began to produce its own inhuman 'laugh' to match that of the suit's pilot's. "Your liquefied brain will seep from what remains of your broken skull! You face the cure for the sickness that is the Kiharas, "Lifeline!" Devastator proclaimed as it leapt into action; "I have no qualms with destroying you!" The OFFICER Network's units suddenly turn their weapons away from Devastator, and towards the powered suit. Its drones' lasers, and its robotic officers' bullets bounced harmlessly against the suit as it and Devastator closed the distance between one another.

The powered suit's right arm, the arm which the gargantuan clamp was attached to, rose up, and the clamp was launched outwards. Devastator, with a running start, threw a punch, which met the clamp head-on, hydraulics in its arms pumping forwards and backwards as fist met clamp. Devastator dug its feet into the concrete as it fought against the force of the momentum the clamp had gathered.

Devastator unleashed two particle streams, both of which were evaded as the powered suit rolled out of the way, as if wheels beneath its feet allowed it to "skate" across the concrete. As it skated in avoidance, the second and third floors of the Reformatory were continuously torn apart as the top of the powered suit ripped through them.

"We've super got your back, ro-man!"

Devastator turned its head for a split second, and saw the forms of Kinuhata Saiai and Shirai Kuroko, the latter of whom teleported the former directly into the fray from afar.

"We faced some… resistance!" Kuroko explained quickly, before she teleported atop the powered suit. Gripping tightly onto the outer edge of one of the fans atop its rectangular upper body. The Anti Skill officer went from being empty-handed to producing two of her sharpened daggers. Leaping into the air, she teleported both directly into the suit's armored exterior, before she teleported herself away. Saiai grabbed two nearby OFFICER Network robots, as drones' lasers bounced away from her Offense Armor. Dual wielding their metallic forms as on-the-fly weapons, Saiai slashed at the powered suit's slow-moving legs with them, while Devastator's particle streams continuously bit into the powered suit's exterior. Bits and pieces of the machines gripped by Saiai flew off with each strike.

"Does this thing not super take damage?!" Saiai complained; she then proceeded to toss her weapons away, and gripped the powered suit's 'ankle'. With her Offense Armor aiding her, she attempted to halt the thing's constant movements. As a reaction, the powered suit leapt into the air, and, as trails of black smoke emerged from its back, it began to push through the Reformatory's upper levels, until it completely left the Reformatory, with Saiai still clinging on, legs dangling.

"Devastator, there's someone in here who needs my… our… help; they contacted me telepathically some time ago," Kuroko explained.

The machine nodded in apparent understanding, and looked to the gaping hole the powered suit had created. "The hole in the wall, Deputy. You, go after Lifeline, rip the fungal growth apart, crush its brain, the seat of its dark cerebral mutations, until nothing is left behind to be salvaged." Devastator commanded. "The Kihara fungi are fond of experimenting on one another."

"Lifeline…" Kuroko muttered the words, more to herself than to anyone else, before her eyes widened, and her eyebrows rose up. Kuroko's lips parted, as memories of a past that, in the moment, wasn't quite as innocent as it had once seemed, returned to her.

"Therestina. You're still… doing this? It's been over ten years, and you're still doing this?"

Kuroko gave a sigh, and rubbed her temples with the index finger and thumb of her left hand, as she shook her head. Then, Shirai Kuroko vanished.

Devastator cocked its head, and began to make its way through the gaping hole in the wall, its metallic feet stepping over the rubble that the powered suit had created when it had emerged from the wall. The red light its body produced illuminated the darkness, but not enough to warrant the disabling of its darkness adaption function.

Beyond the wall the machine had been directed to, Devastator's humming, clanking form stepped into a spacious room – it looked much more like an airplane hangar than something that belonged in any type of penitentiary. The floors, rather than being concrete, were reflective and metallic. The spacious room's ceiling, like most of the ceilings in the Reformatory was damaged, and had many long, jagged metallic rods protruding from it. By Devastator's exact calculations, the ceiling was approximately one hundred and fifty-five feet away from the floor. Row upon row of MPS-79 armored suits stood at attention, staring forward into nothingness, enormous Gatling guns were held in the grip of each suit, raised up, as if they were prepared to dump ammunition into some invisible foe.

A single bullet hit Devastator, directly in its skeletal midsection.

The machine glared down, the glowing, red orbs in its wireframe head illuminating the ground beneath its feet. The bullet hadn't done any lasting harm, as it had simply bounced against solid Supirium. Devastator raised its head, and cocked its neck to one side.

A woman was approaching. She resembled Mental Out, or, more accurately a dark reflection of Mental Out, in a manner of speaking; long, bright grey, almost white, unkempt, frizzy hair fell to her midsection, chunks of which were missing. Her body was skeletally thin, and her thin, shaking limbs looked as if they could just barely support her pathetically small torso. Clad in little more than what looked like a simple hospital garb, covered in dark crimson stains, she stumbled.

"That was not meant for you. Why can't I even see your thoughts? Know what you're thinking? Now that I see you up close… you're no suit. A brain inside, maybe, protected by something… from me? Set up by someone?" Mitsuari Ayu mumbled feverishly. She was wide-eyed, her wrists, and thighs covered in deep, jagged scars.

Devastator, a mocking, nonchalant bounce in its step, approached the pathetic form of the shuddering, malnourished-looking Mitsuari Ayu.

"This is you? This is the puppet master, the memory-stealer? A relative to child-stealers?" Devastator inquired, as it placed a metallic hand on Ayu's shoulder, and leaned down. Its line of vision met Ayu's, who stared blankly into the red orbs in the metallic monstrosity's head. The ceiling above woman and machine viciously shook, but only one of the two paid it any mind. Ayu attempted to wrest herself away from Devastator, but the monstrous machine's grip only tightened, and threatened to break her shoulder.

"Why, little puppet master, are you parlaying with Kiharas? Don't give me that "held against my will" crap; I can see right through you. You planned to have someone walk in here, and you were going to shoot them dead, no?" The metallic monstrosity pried.

"A chain of events, a chain your existence has destroyed. Working with Kiharas? No. Using Kiharas? Yes," Mitsuari Ayu mumbled in response.

"Who's running the Supirium operation, here? Is it you, puppet master, or is it the Kihara? The "Lifeline?"

"Puppet master… I like it. "Lifeline" dangles from the strings. I… end it. Please end it. Save me."

Devastator rose up to its full height; it was nearly twice as tall as Ayu, and, to her, it looked like a giant. The metallic monstrosity placed both of its hands on either side of Mitsuari Ayu's head, its digits clacking against the top of her skull, as its orbs looked into Mental Stinger's irises. In her pupils, the machine saw itself. It knew itself to be a father, a guardian, a friend, who had made many vows, and had broken many of them. It saw itself as a protector, and as a relic of a long-lost era, forgotten, but not gone. It saw itself make the move that would destroy everything it stood for.

It saw itself proceed to twist Mitsuari Ayu's head, one hundred and eighty degrees. Flesh was torn, and bone resisted, at first, but was quickly broken beneath the oppressive grasp of metal. With a great squeeze, a force that was greater than the combined bite forces of half a dozen saltwater crocodiles, it saw Mitsuari Ayu's head explode from the sheer pressure applied to it, and it saw the way it splattered all manners of inner human matter all over its hands, skeletal torso, and wireframe head. It saw fragments of Mental Stinger's skull pelt its form, as it saw itself back away. It saw Mitsuari Ayu's convulsing body fall to the floor, and continue to writhe for some time.

Then, it saw the boy's shade, its boy's shade. Its everything. In the featureless, shadowed illusionary figure, Devastator could see the boy's goofy, spiky hair.

The lights produced by Devastator's body faded from red, to yellow, and, finally, they returned to cyan. "Consider yourself saved, puppet master. For the boy, and for his smile, Devastator Mark One will save you." Devastator scooped the unharmed Mitsuari Ayu up in its arms, and, holding her pitifully small body bridal style, it broke into a run.

The enormous, terribly tall powered suit slammed its clamp into the roof of the Reformatory, creating another massive hole, which Kuroko had to teleport Saiai away from. Kuroko exited the eleventh dimension, and re-appeared in the third behind the powered suit, as OFFICER Network drones blasted it with lasers, and robotic police officers either threw themselves against the suit, or shot at it with their automatic weapons.

"I super have an idea; the person inside is too smart to super let their big, stupid machine fall into the Reformatory, but if we can get it back down onto solid ground…"

Kuroko grasped Saiai's wrist, and teleported, just as the powered suit's clamp was fired at blinding speeds. It crashed against the section of the barely-stable roof where Kuroko and Saiai had stood mere seconds prior to the clamp's violent impact.

"We don't have enough time to form a fucking idea! Just hold tight!" Kuroko cried in anger. She sent the last of her daggers through the eleventh dimension, and, when they re-appeared in the third, they found their mark in the powered suit.

The pilot within the suit laughed hysterically, as the clamp was fired yet again. Saiai shoved Kuroko aside, and met the clamp head-on. The petite esper's feet slapped against the rough, metallic roof of the Reformatory as she threw a fist at the clamp. Offense Armor and metal clashed; a powerful gust of air passed around the petite esper and the powered suit, as they met. Saiai felt a dull, but otherwise manageable pain travel up her arm from the point of impact. Saiai gritted her teeth, and grappled with the clamp. Before it had the chance to lift her from the ground, or attempt to crush her, Saiai's brow furrowed, and, with a grunt, the petite esper tossed the powered suit over her shoulder.

As it became airborne, the extremities of the powered suit flopped about, and, before two streams of black smoke emerged from the back of the machine, Saiai and Kuroko assumed it would meet the ground below the Reformatory's roof with what they believed would be a terribly loud thud. The powered suit, instead, regained its stability.

"A Dark May survivor?! Ohoho, and little Shirai Kuroko, all grown up!" The voice of Therestina Kihara Lifeline proclaimed. "Mr. Crowley's databases certainly do contain some interesting things, don't they?"

"I'm going to super bleed you dry; you can't breach my Offense Armor." Saiai snarled, as she held out her wrist. Kuroko nodded, grabbed it, and the two vanished into the eleventh dimension.

Atop the powered suit, the two reappeared, and it began to purposefully sway from side to side, as Therestina cackled maniacally, drowning in her own psychosis. Kuroko, mind torn apart by headaches caused by stress, teleported away, as Saiai began to tear away plates of its dark golden armor.

It was then, again, that the unexpected occurred.

A lamppost was driven through the powered suit's torso. Sparks flew out from the suit and bathed the night sky in orange as Therestina shrieked in fury. Following the lamppost, the charred remains of a motorized vehicle crashed into the powered suit, sending it careening towards the earth; Saiai leapt away to safety, and, with a terrible crash, and a wave of bright orange sparks, the sounds of tearing, twisting metal rang out as the powered suit met the asphalt.

Kuroko, who had teleported onto the Reformatory's roof, looked down, and moved her head from side to side in awe, in an attempt to find the source of the attacks. Rather than finding it visually, however, she was drawn to it by a proclamation.

"What're you doing here? Don't step on my toes, Shirai! Let's finish this thing!"

She walked, red hair glowing beneath the moonlight, with what Saiai, who had landed some fifteen feet away from the sparking, twitching powered suit, could see was a confident smirk, was Musujime Awaki.

Kuroko was forcibly pulled to her side from the Reformatory's roof; Kuroko, once she reappeared, shook her head, and groaned in relative pleasure, as her headache lessened slightly.

"Musujime…"

"Save it, Shirai; we're far from done."

"Ohoho! Who is this?!"

There was a short delay, before Therestina spoke again. "Move Point, of GROUP fame! My, my; how is the Accelerator?" The wicked woman mockingly inquired, as her damaged powered suit began to close the distance between Therestina and her foes. Awaki looked to Saiai, and, refusing to answer Therestina's demands, nodded her head upwards.

"If you're super thinking what I'm thinking, I'm ready! I want to rip this super whore's super face off!" Saiai angrily cried. Awaki whipped her military flashlight from her belt, and aimed it in the direction of the powered suit. Musujime Awaki performed the necessary calculations, and Saiai vanished from her original standing point. She reappeared next to the powered suit's 'thigh'; gripping onto it, Saiai began to repeatedly punch the metallic 'thigh', as the powered suit rushed Awaki and Kuroko.

Both vanished from sight as the powered suit charged through the area that the two had once been standing seconds prior. Saiai tore away chunks of dark golden armor, before she got to the inner workings of the powered suit's right leg. Awaki teleported an enormous chunk of rubble, which she had gathered from a nearby ruined structure into the powered suit, causing it to stumble backwards, as Therestina manically shrieked, and cursed aloud.

Saiai's fist crashed through the 'thigh's hydraulics, and through the mess of wires and metallic beams beyond it, just as the powered suit's arms batted her away. The powered suit's right leg immediately ceased to function, and the suit began to tip awkwardly, as it became unbalanced. Two funnels of black smoke began to emerge from the powered suit's back, as it took to the skies. The OFFICER Network's drones blasted two large, cone-shaped protrusions on the powered suit's back, from which the black smoke emerged, as they, along with their robotic officer comrades, rattled off canned warnings and their commonplace demands for immediate surrender.

Kinuhata Saiai kept on her toes, and continually moved about, to avoid becoming the powered suit's potential target, should it decide to land. She rushed towards the charred remains of the motorized vehicle, grasped it, and, with an Offense Armor-aided toss, it again flew through the air. The powered suit attempted to avoid the airborne vehicle-turned-projectile, but, from the opposite side, it was struck with a great hunk of rubble, curtesy of Musujime Awaki. Dented and damaged, with plumes of fire emerging from various places on its form, such as from its back, the upper left hand side of its torso, and with smoke pouring out from its right leg, the powered suit was abandoned. A previously-unknown hatch on the top of the powered suit flipped open with great force, and a vaguely human-shaped form was ejected from within.

The powered suit fell to the ground with a thud, as it was slowly consumed by bright, crackling orange flames. The OFFICER Network's units turned their attention to the ejected form, who was freefalling at blinding speeds. Musujime Awaki, who had been moving about atop the Reformatory, however, had different ideas about how this encounter was going to conclude. Just as the form was about to pass by her extended flashlight, Awaki performed the mental calculation required to teleport the form. It vanished, and then, seconds later, reappeared next to Saiai.

"I'm… I'm going to kill every single one of you. I will not stop; I will not stop until you, and Amata's bastard child, and the Railgun, and that FUCKING DOG! Are all dead! I will…"

"Super nice of you to stop by!" Saiai proclaimed, as she delivered an Offense Armor-aided punch to the armored form that had appeared near her. Saiai's fist crashed against the pale, suddenly horrified face of Therestina Kihara Lifeline. Therestina's jaw cracked, and her right cheekbone was shattered by the blow, as she was sent flying backwards. Saiai, giggling with mania evident in her voice, straddled Therestina, and began delivering blow after blow to the Kihara's face. Blood spurted from Therestina's lips and nose as Saiai used her face as a punching bag; Saiai's giggling evolved into full-on laughter, as she suddenly ceased her pummelling, and wrapped her hands around Therestina's neck. Saiai, with glee, began to violently ring it.

"You've super pissed me off! You've super gotten super under my super skin, you whore! I'll super rip your hair out and wipe my ass with it! SUPER DIE!"

Awaki's brow furrowed, as she witnessed her old friend's descent into madness; she'd seen this before, and doubtless, she'd see it again. Saiai's destabilized personality was a thing to be reckoned with, even by the standards of a potential level five. Awaki felt a hand fall to her shoulder. Move Point turned back, and saw the frowning face of Shirai Kuroko.

"Musujime, let Kinuhata finish this. Therestina isn't someone we can… I can fix. She was doing this over ten years ago, and she's… she's still doing this," Kuroko mumbled. "I can't believe it. Doesn't she realize? Is she mentally ill? Is she even aware of her actions?!"

"I can, and I'm sure she is," Awaki scoffed. "Once a psycho bitch, always a psycho bitch. Can't say I know this woman, but I'll take your word for it. You two have a history? You'll have to tell me about it sometime, Shirai."

"I… I can't watch. She is a sick, sick person… but this is…"

"I saw her trying to kill you and Kinuhata, while I was on my way here, throwing that metal fist at you. You're going to have to catch me up… out here, it's you or them, Shirai. You want to be the one being strangled? Doubt it. It sucks that some people are like this, but, what do you want? Can't change them."

Musujime Awaki watched on, while Shirai Kuroko turned away from the scene, as Kinuhata Saiai strangled the final breaths out of the thrashing, blue-faced form of Therestina Kihara Lifeline. The petite esper's lips curled into a smile that stretched from ear to ear; her brown hair hung in her face, but she couldn't even be bothered to push it away; she was far too enthralled with watching Therestina struggle to cling to life. The Kihara mindlessly drooled as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Kinuhata Saiai's deranged, grinning face, and the sounds of her sinister, high-pitched cackling were the last things that Therestina Kihara Lifeline saw, and heard, as everything went black, and she lived no more, leaving behind a bloody legacy of destruction and betrayal.

"That was… super good… almost as good as… super being bent over a table and… super rammed. I'm super horny, now! Where's ro-man?! I super need more money!" Kinuhata Saiai's shaking form began to stumble back towards the Reformatory, as her little fingers twitched, and her wide, wild eyes darted from left to right. Musujime Awaki and Shirai Kuroko were faced with a new dilemma; what was to be done with Saiai?


	24. A Certain Change

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi presented himself with an air of confidence, befitting of a man who was on a personal basis with the Director of Academy City. Though his body was hunched slightly, due to his age, and his face was wrinkled, he stood as tall and proud as he physically could, given his limitations. Clad in a dark sweater vest, with white, long sleeves, tight-fitting dark slacks that clung to his thinning figure, and a pair of black dress shoes that shined beneath beams of warm, synthetic light, Tsugutoshi was dressed to impress.

Entering the Director's abode, he bore witness to the Director's warm, genuine smile of mirth. Kumokawa Seria rose from her seat, and removed her face from her circle of monitors. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, which caressed her neck, and brushed against her right breast. Adorned in a done-up, wrinkleless, untucked dress shirt, long, hemmed dress pants, both of which were darker in color than Tsugutoshi's outfit, and her tall heels, Kumokawa Seria approached. As if they knew better, the Director's guardians didn't so much as move a muscle.

"Ma'am." Tsugutoshi greeted, with a bow. He took Seria's hand into his own, and shook it with enthusiasm.

"Please, Tsugutoshi. No need to be so formal. Silly old man," Seria responded. She pulled her hand away gently, and took the elderly man into a warm, welcoming embrace, one which Tsugutoshi reluctantly, at first, returned, before a smile formed on his wrinkled visage, and he patted the almost gargantuan Seria on the back, warmly, as he chuckled.

Tsugutoshi was the first to break the embrace, as he stepped back. Seria did the same, as she attempted to compose herself; though she wanted to appear firm, as a source of intimidation, she couldn't stuff down the smile her lips had curled into. "How might I serve the Lady?" Tsugutoshi inquired, as he chuckled, arms at his sides, dangling quite casually.

"Serve? You're no servant, Tsugutoshi. I would ask a favor of you. It's something of a matter of urgency, and, I assure you, if I could handle this issue myself, I certainly would. I've no love for taking you from your duties, old friend," Seria spoke, as she physically encouraged Tsugutoshi to follow. Knowingly, the elderly man sat himself down across from Seria, her desk between them.

"Of course, ma'am. Say the word, and it'll be done; well, as quickly as these old fingers of mine can manage it!" Tsugutoshi spoke mirthfully, as Seria allowed herself to laugh at the "old coot's" antics.

"You're very capable, especially for your age; no need to belittle yourself. You get yourself around without issue, you are a wonderful father, and… oh. Forgive me."

"She's at peace, Seria. I've grieved as I've needed to grieve. Don't feel that you have to walk on eggshells, ma'am."

"Ahem. Apologies, Tsugutoshi. If you could, and, preferably, in a timely manner, might you meet with the level fives? As I mentioned previously, it's something of an urgent matter, and, for security's sake, I'm unable to meet with them myself. Everything you need to know will be thoroughly explained within a series of short documents that you'll be provided with," Seria spoke.

"If you'd provide me with a time, and a date, ma'am, I'll be more than happy to. Or, are these details provided in the aforementioned documents?" Tsugutoshi pried, slightly embarrassed; his mind was slipping with age, or, so he thought. He'd been in the business long enough, that he should've known better.

"That's correct. A time, and an exact date will be provided, though, schedules can be changed, if absolutely needed. Due to the urgency of the matter, I've had to… put some failsafes in place, so, you shouldn't have to worry too much. Most, if not all of the level fives should make an appearance. Frustrated? Perhaps, but, unfortunately, some evils are… necessary, as some of our friends know," Seria responded, knowingly winking as she finished her statement.

"Church of Necessary Evil" indeed! Torturers and freaks, I'd say… oh, dear, that sounds quite closed-minded, doesn't it?" Tsugutoshi rhetorically asked.

"Not entirely untrue, old friend," Seria replied, with a sigh. "As always, I appreciate your assistance, Tsugutoshi."

"And, as always, I enjoy paying my dues, ma'am. Keeps the old gears turning."

It was just as Uiharu Kazari had said; Misaka Mikoto found herself and her once-friend calmly walking past the unmanned receptionist's desk, meters away from the reformatory's entrance. Most of the reformatory had been unpopulated, in fact. One or two orderlies had unenthusiastically questioned as to where the two young women were heading off to; with no replies, and a shrug of the orderlies' respective shoulders, the two young women had continued on their way. It felt like a knife had been jabbed into Mikoto's gut both times. Misaka Mikoto knew this was wrong.

Sliding glass doors opened automatically for the two, as they left the reformatory in school district seven behind. Just like that. It still all seemed so wrong and out of order to Mikoto. The ugly, decaying, bright silver structure, with its rows of small, glass windows seemed just as oppressive to Mikoto as it did when she had first walked up to it.

"Kazari, this place should have tight security. Orderlies, big, muscular security guards, alarms, something, anything…"

"Welcome to Academy City," Kazari snapped in response. "Enjoy your stay. The bottle of antianxiety medication is to your right, and a pair of blinders are to your left… I'll take neither."

Mikoto peered back down to her phone, as she walked, with Kazari at her side. Perhaps, if Saten Ruiko and Shirai Kuroko had been there, this would've felt more normal to Mikoto. Kuroko's text message was now Mikoto's phone's wallpaper, as was her reply, which was below it. "I love you too. I miss you too. Be safe please."

"This is just, it's not right, everything's so wrong! You should be in that reformatory, resting, and receiving therapy! You're hurting, you're traumatized, you shouldn't be walking out of a place like that, just… so easily! It's so wrong!" Mikoto exclaimed, as she shook her head.

"Thank you for your tender words, "Ace". Kazari replied scornfully. "Network's God knows where, jerking itself off; that's what happens when you rely on a robot army to keep your City's infrastructure up and running, I guess, you know? This isn't how I intended for this to be, either. This isn't what I fucking wanted, Misaka-san; but it just happened. The megalomaniacal robot that's convinced I'm its mother, that probably wants me to cuddle with it and read it bedtime stories? Not my plan. Becoming an enemy of the Board of Directors? Not my plan! Losing that goddamn turncoat, S-Saten… not my plan! She's a miserable, no-good cunt, and I hope she's fucking dead! But I want to be with her again."

Kazari's sudden outburst had caught the attention of some passersby, who spared the Thermal Hand user and the Railgun a glance, before they turned away, and picked up their collective paces.

"Keep looking. I'll bury you, or, better yet, I'll have my "son" bury you." Kazari snarled, as she and Mikoto turned down a street; neither particularly knew where they were going. Kazari was just glad to be out of that place.

"Where are we even going? I assume you're going to stick me behind a computer, and have me fuck with the Board's toys? I could hack the Network, send it off to attack someone, trigger World War Four, and by World War Four, I mean everyone gangs up on us and royally plugs us. That would be one way to deal with Academy City," Kazari chuckled, without even a single trace of humor. It was a wrathful sound, that sent a shiver down Misaka Mikoto's spine. Mikoto just wanted her shy, easily-flustered friend back.

"I don't even know what we're doing. I just know we're doing… something. Academy City has problems, and, as always, we're the ones who're going to have to stand up to it," Mikoto replied, completely avoiding responding to Kazari's deranged ramblings.

"It's almost as easy as it sounds, in retrospective. If the robot's held up its end of the bargain, and I have good reason to believe it has… if everything's going according to plan, or the lack of a plan," Kazari looked around. Above her, behind her, from side to side, before she continued, lowering the volume of her voice. "I'll be able to give it the Supirium body it's been looking for. It'll be invincible; not even the number one will be able to kill it," she muttered.

"That's not a good thing. What if it…" Mikoto was cut off, as Kazari shook her head. She was smirking slightly, and chuckling.

"Misaka-san, Misaka-san, Misaka-san… wake up. I don't know what happened, or what changed. Maybe it was through meeting the intrepid Officer Shirai, but the thing seems… vulnerable. It openly called me mother, for the first time since… well, since it became self-aware. If it's going to get all sentimental, this is a development I can take advantage of. For once, things might be working out in my favor."

"It wasn't always self-aware?" Mikoto had so many questions floating through her mind. She wanted to know everything, and yet, she wanted to silence her mind's desire to learn more, despite the morbidity of everything, and forget it all.

"It's not safe to talk about this in public. Any one of these people could be a Board stooge, just waiting to get the drop on us, on me. Come. We need to get back to D-001's hole in the dirt. Safest place, closest thing I have to an actual home right now," Kazari explained.

To Mikoto, the Thermal Hand user was beginning to sound like a paranoid schizophrenic; though she didn't have many of the mannerisms of one who was lost in paranoid delusion, Mikoto could see Kazari's eyes twitching, slightly. Not quite blinking all the way, shuddering. Mikoto wanted to run away, as fast as she could, run back to the waiting, loving arms of Shirai Kuroko, who Mikoto knew would take her and hide her from the world, but she also wanted to take Kazari into her arms, and hold her close.

"Kazari…"

She turned her neck, and faced Misaka Mikoto. The Thermal Hand user raised an eyebrow inquisitively, as her eyelids began to cease their twitching. "Okay, you have my attention. What do you want, "Ace?"

Mikoto didn't move towards Kazari; she'd seen what had happened to the orderly who appeared to be attempting to perform a similar action. Instead, Mikoto sighed, and stuffed her hands into her pockets. She looked to the ground, as the two continued to walk.

"Kazari, you don't have to stay in some hole in the ground, whatever this place is. You can… you can stay at my… apartment. I can stay with Kuroko."

"Shut up with that crap." Kazari commanded. "What do you think this is? I'm going to D-001's hole, I'm getting my gear, if it's actually still there, and not snatched up by Anti Skill, and I'm going back to work; it's secure, when you're down there, you're completely off the radar. I try and operate from your residence, and someone will have a gun to my temple… are you with them? Is this a set-up of some type? I'll fight to my dying breath, if you think you're going to take me, and make me this City's whore."

Mikoto shook her head, and sighed with frustration evident in the vocalization. "This is going to be hard. She's so paranoid, so sick… I don't know if I can do this." Mikoto took a deep breath, and, with the greatest restraint that she could muster, closed her lips, and bit down on her tongue. "I'm just trying to look out for you, okay? You were my f-friend, once, and I want you to be again. I just want to try and show you that there are people who… care about you. You drifted away from us, and terrible things happened in that time, but… we can try and get along, Kazari. We'll never be what we were when we were kids, again… but we can get along."

Kazari spat onto the ground. Her right slipper-clad foot stepped over the wad of white, bubbly saliva that stained the asphalt beneath her, as she looked up. Her lips had curled downwards into a scowl, and her brow had furrowed. Kazari looked straight ahead, but didn't stray from Misaka Mikoto's side.

"I'm working with you out of necessity. Nothing more; I don't even know what I'm doing, or where I'm going. I'm just… existing, following some path to nothingness, climbing up this mountain that leads to nowhere. A crude analogy, yes, but it works, for the purpose of my statement. I just know this all ties back to D-001, to the Kiharas, and to this dying City."

"Kiharas… the robot said something about Kihara Gensei, and about my… my Sisters, when I met it for the second time! What do you have to do with the Kiharas?" Mikoto hissed angrily, more angrily than she'd wanted to. Mikoto's sudden change in demeanor amused Uiharu Kazari, who smirked, as she brushed her hair away from her shoulders.

"You really are out of the loop, aren't you, Misaka-san? Officer Shirai never told you about our little exchange? Shame. When we get somewhere secure, I'll tell you all about it…"

"If it involves the Kiharas, I need to know about it, Kazari; especially about three of them in particular," Mikoto responded. Her face had darkened, and she had clenched her fists. "I need to know about something that belongs to them, and what's become of it. Kazari, please… we need to figure something out. We'll figure something out. I'm not going to let you drift away from me again."

Uiharu Kazari didn't reply.

Mitsuari Ayu's ribs were visible to Devastator, poking out beneath her thin, pale flesh. Jutting from her upper waist, they looked like a series of unsightly bridges, that connected one invisible continent to another. The machine knew it had to get this human water, and a dozen hamburgers, and fast. Ayu's breaths were slow, weak, and sounded almost strained, as she inhaled, and exhaled through her nose.

"Hanging in there, princess?" Devastator inquired, as it turned down a corner of the Reformatory's interior, and hid Ayu beneath its Supirium skeleton, as OFFICER Network stragglers blasted the machine with lasers, fired at it with their automatic weapons, and threw themselves against it. Ayu didn't answer; the metallic monstrosity could see, plain as day, that she was conscious. Her eyes moved from side to side, as Devastator's faceless, wireframe head occasionally peaked down at her. She blinked every couple of seconds.

"I'll take your silence as a firm, resounding no. Worry not, I'm understanding," the machine spoke. It charged through a wall, head-first; the material the wall was made of broke, and crumbled against the machine's Supirium body. Turning around, it removed one arm from beneath Ayu, and then blasted away the group of OFFICER Network units with a particle stream. "I'm backtracking, as I created a map of the way in and out of this place, as I traversed it. We'll be out in no time. The wall was just a… a quick detour, is all. It'll make our trip much faster."

"What are you… why are you?" Ayu asked, as she, carried by the machine, found herself in the antechamber-like room that she knew to lead into the Reformatory's first wing. Devastator pressed itself against the eastern wall, just before the tall, door-less entranceway that it had created. Its metallic skeleton scraped against the wall's surface, and created a small wave of sparks as it did so. Devastator peaked its head out, and it swivelled from side to side on its neck.

"Puppets seem to be swarming, still. No good. They really don't like me, though I can't even begin to imagine why," Devastator stated. "Oh, and, for the record, I'm not ignoring your questions; I'm not in the position to answer them, since I'm trying to prevent you from being blown up, or shot, or both."

"I don't…"

"I don't understand"; yes, yes, I know. Nobody does. No human seems to understand anything, about anything. Ignorance is bliss, it seems, until your bliss is ripped apart by a force you were never prepared for, a force you should have rightfully been fighting from the start." Devastator replied. The clacking of its metallic jaws that was produced as it spoke disturbed Ayu; at least disturbed was a feeling. "You're truly an ignorant lot, you selfish, primitive, hairless monkeys."

Devastator shook its head, as if it was stunned. "Not what I meant. Oops. That was a slip-up; evil thoughts, you know how they are, always getting the better of you, sneaking up on you when you least expect it! Sneaky, sneaky things!" It exclaimed, as the volume of its vocalizations increased. It peered outside of the entranceway again; the OFFICER Network's units remained, though, they didn't appear to be focused on any lone target. If anything, the units seemed to be in something of a neutral state.

Mitsuari Ayu forcibly rolled herself out of Devastator's arms, and hit the ground with a thud. Her thin, scarred arms, and her weak legs struggled to allow her body to rise, and stand upright.

"That wasn't on me; you were the one who went on a trip! You could've just asked, "oh, please mister, could you let me down?" No problemo! It's all good!" Devastator spoke, as it stepped out in front of Ayu.

"You said you… wanted what the Kihara was importing? There's… a lot of it. Don't know what you're planning on doing with it. Don't care. Kill the Kihara, and it's yours… I don't… care."

Mitsuari Ayu stepped out of ruined Reformatory, weak legs shaking slightly. As she stumbled about, looking as if she were in a daze, Devastator took to her side, and, placing a hand on her shoulder, it leaned forward. "What, exactly are you doing? You need a pound of potatoes, and a small lake, human! You're on the edge, I can see your hipbones. A quick fixer-upper and some bad romantic comedies, and you'll be right as rain! Is rain really right?"

Ayu shrugged, and pushed past Devastator, as it reluctantly removed its hand away from her. Ayu looked up to the sky, which was buzzing with metallic bodies, and the forms of drones. She cupped her hands around her mouth, inhaled deeply, and screamed, as loud as her weakened body would allow, "I have a bomb strapped to my chest!"

If Devastator had a face, it would've contorted into an expression of horror. It sprinted, and moved to tackle Ayu to the ground; Devastator's intention was to use its body as a shield, protecting the malnourished-looking human from harm. Instead, her proclamation attracted the OFFICER Network's attention.

"LAUNCHING COUNTER-ATTACK AGAINST THREAT. PROCESSING NATURE OF THREAT, AND DECODING."

The operating system of the Network, in a fraction of a second, launched an auditory manipulation executable, decoded what, to it, sounded like a mess of human vocalizations, and processed the threat. Responding to the situation with the appropriate subroutine, the Control Tower of the Officer Network began moving its units into action. The Network's units descended, automatic weapons raised, their barrels pointed in Ayu's direction, drones circled like vultures, their laser weapons screaming as they unleashed their deadly beams. Devastator stepped in front of Ayu, its body absorbing the hail of gunfire, and the superheated beams.

Ayu stumbled around Devastator, screaming at the top of her lungs, and loudly, painfully sobbing like a madwoman. Devastator grabbed the young woman in its arms, and rushed her to the Reformatory's entranceway, as she screamed, and kicked, and thrashed as violently as she could manage. Tossing her frail form as gently as it could manage, Devastator turned its attention back to the OFFICER Network.

In retaliation for the attempt on the young woman's life, and without so much as a single vocalization, Devastator turned its wrists to the Network's units. The metallic monstrosity cocked its head to one side, as its body produced red light. Two particle streams ripped the Network's units asunder, as they danced, and moved swiftly from side to side, up and down, delivering upon the unfeeling automatons what they had nearly delivered onto Mitsuari Ayu. Chunks of metal, wires dangling, and sparking fell from the sky like a dystopian snowfall, as Devastator walked nonchalantly, swinging its wrists around, cleaving each and every Network unit that threw itself in its path.

Drones blasted Devastator with the same lasers that had come dangerously close to cruelly ripping Mitsuari Ayu to shreds, and the metallic monstrosity was pelted with bullets from the robotic officers' automatic weapons. Each attacker soon ceased to be, as it joined its brethren in falling from the sky, broken and sparking. The clanking of cold, unfeeling metal surrounded Devastator, as it continued on its macabre crusade. The grounds of the Reformatory were beginning to fill up with robotic remnants. Small, sparking mounds were piling up.

"Now, that's what I call… motivation. That's what I needed, to get back on the rails." Devastator finally commented, as its particle streams tore the last remaining units to shreds. It looked up to the sky, and it cocked its wireframe head from side to side; as well, it rolled its shoulders. Its humming, clanking body continued to walk, one two-toed foot after another, as its hydraulics slammed inside of it, Devastator quickly returned to the Reformatory's entranceway, scooped up the broken, weeping Mitsuari Ayu, and then began to leap in the direction of the first of many clusters of heat signatures its darkness adaption function picked up. In its 'mind', an exclamation formed.

"What was that about, puppet master? We're moving too slowly, far too slowly. That could've been disastrous. You, someone who does bad things, and may or may not be a bad person, were nearly killed. Things need to change, to be changed, and fast. Academy City needs a guardian, a ruler; a ruler who will do what's right… a benevolent King. Yes, a King. Not a cold, "I only do business" type Director… a King."

"Oi, Kinuhata. Stop."

Saiai's head darted upwards in a flash. Her eyes were still wide, but her grin had faded. Saiai looked back to the bloodied, brutalized, barely recognizable form of Therestina Kihara Lifeline, and then returned to facing Musujime Awaki. Shirai Kuroko wasn't too far behind her. "What was that all about? Don't take it the wrong way, bitch was asking for it, if you ask me."

"Ha… super need a dicking, or something. Gotta super find ro-man, get him to transfer my money. Super need… something. Super want a hot guy to cum inside me, knock me up. Then, I super want to take the baby out, kill it, and super start all over… from scratch…"

"Kinuhata, get a grip. Now. I'm not playing around. You need to settle down." Awaki commanded.

"What do I super like to you? Loverboy? You can't super order me around."

"Leave the Idiot out of this. This is the last thing anyone needs from you. How are you going to reasonably conduct business, if you're going to… freak out, every time somebody doesn't die immediately? I know that's what this is about. You're pissed, and you don't know how to handle your own emotions. We've been over this before. This isn't how you cope," Awaki stated. as Saiai continually tried to walk away, Awaki continuously teleported Saiai back towards her, flashlight extended in her direction.

To Awaki, she seemed to be slowly coming down from her blood-haze. Saiai crossed her vibrating arms beneath her bosom, and gave a sigh. Kuroko swallowed, hard, grateful that Awaki seemed to be able to diffuse the situation. Kuroko thought that Saiai would've tried to attack them, in her deranged state.

"Super doesn't change anything," Saiai responded. "I'm getting my money, and I'm super getting it soon. How'd you even super find us, and why? You super said you weren't getting involved."

Awaki had to confess, at least inwardly, that Saiai had her backed into a corner, with her question. "I don't really have anything to hide from you, Kinuhata. Heard the booming, and felt the ground shake a couple of times. Figured you got yourself into something nasty, and might've needed some backup. I would've felt bad just leaving you out here."

Shaking her head, Saiai pointed in the direction of the Reformatory. "I'm super going that way. Coming? Both of you?"

"Shirai?" Awaki inquired, as she looked from one old friend to another. Shirai Kuroko nodded reluctantly, and began to move in Saiai's direction. This was enough of an answer for Awaki, who, shrugging her shoulders once, produced her phone, and began to type up a text message, as she occasionally looked up from the device, in order to ensure that she didn't bump into either of her companions. "things are getting interesting. im gonna be out for a bit, dont know when ill be home for sure. love you, for some reason, god only knows why.

PS. Im not your mistress. Youre actually disgusting.

-MA"

As Awaki caught up with the group she'd suddenly found herself being a part of, Saiai turned back to her and Kuroko. "I super hope ro-man killed the mental ability user, if there actually was one. This one," Saiai motioned towards Kuroko, "said someone was talking to her through telepathy. I super don't know whether or not I believe it, but, if it's true, I'd rather not super deal with that."

Kuroko snorted angrily. One of her eyebrows twitched, as her lips curled into a scowl. "What's that supposed to mean, exactly? Do you think I'm crazy, Kinuhata? I'm not the one who just shouted about how I was going to kill my own child."

"It was a super spur of the moment thing! I got too caught up in the moment, okay? I super wouldn't do that! Ugh, getting knocked up sounds horrible! Why would I super want to lay around while a… a parasite super grew in me, and ate my food and drank my drinks! Nasty, creepy!" Saiai exclaimed, as her skin crawled. Awaki chuckled to herself, as Kuroko looked back to the Move Point user.

"W-what's so funny, Musujime?! That's horrible! Did you not just hear what Kinuhata said?"

"I did, Shirai; different between us is, I'm used to it. That's just how Kinuhata is. She says things like that, but she never actually acts on them, when she gets all PMS-y. You should've seen her when the number four went off the radar," Awaki spoke, her eyes sliding in her head, and looking towards Saiai, whose shoulders suddenly tensed up.

"I'll super get that money back from Mugino, even if I have to pick it off her dead body! I should've known that she was playing me, Mugino never super went to the movies with me!" Saiai complained.

Kuroko shuddered at the thought of Mugino Shizuri, and the terrifying, overwhelming presence that she exerted whenever she entered a room, or even walked down the street. "I'm glad she's gone. The world's a better place without someone like Mugino."

The relatively peaceful moment was interrupted, suddenly, when Musujime Awaki spun on her heel, flashlight extended. "Look alive. Network's sending something at us, by the looks of it… real big, ugly thing. Is this really the best Academy City can do?"

Saiai turned around more slowly, but, rather than shifting into a battle stance, or charging the aggressor, she simply burst into a giggling fit, as she placed her hands on her hips. Kuroko raised an eyebrow at the petite esper, quizzically.

"Musujime, that's ro-man! He super looks even worse than before!" Saiai exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes, as she continued to laugh. "Ro-man! You… do you have my mon… wait, why are you super carrying a girl princess style? Are you building a harem?"

"There're three of you, now? I was looking for two; no wonder I was following the wrong heat signatures!" The metallic monstrosity called, as it leapt from the remnants of a nearby, crumbling, unidentifiable structure; Awaki assumed it had once been an apartment complex, before the entire upper half had collapsed. It freefell, as it stretched its arm, holding Mitsuari Ayu's limp form as far away from the ground as it possibly could. Like a blur, it crashed, feet-first against the ground. It took Mitsuari Ayu into a protective embrace, as asphalt, and the natural materials beneath were forced outwards upon impact.

"Devastator, where did you find tha- I mean, her? Who is she? Is she… alive?" Kuroko inquired, as she looked sympathetically upon the skeletally thin young woman. Behind her, in her peripheral vision, Kuroko could see that Awaki still had her flashlight raised. Confident and proud, she faced the monstrous machine down without reluctance.

"It has a name? You know this ugly thing, Shirai? Kinuhata? Is it even alive?" Awaki pried, stepping ahead of her two allies.

"You know; I really don't appreciate that. I was born this way! Well, created, not born, and, I guess I haven't always looked like this. I'd much rather not be naked. No need to fret, beau! I'll be getting fixed, soon! Stop objectifying me!" Devastator replied, with frustration evident in its voice, as it lowered Mitsuari Ayu, and set her back in its arms.

"Devastator"? That's not threatening at all." Awaki responded, eyes narrowing.

"Musujime, please. I'll explain everything, someday, whenever I get the chance. It's with me… us? I know Kinuhata isn't sticking around to help us, whoever "us" is, and, I don't know about you." Kuroko spoke. The last thing she wanted was for all the progress she'd made to be lost.

"Ah, Deputy," the machine spoke, swivelling its head to look at Kuroko. "I don't know who this person is. I know that she's another button-clicking puppet master; seriously, how many of these people are there? Is being a cowardly manipulator just what's vogue right now?"

Kuroko pointed triumphantly at Saiai, and sneered. "Ha. I told you I wasn't crazy, Kinuhata."

"You're taking ro-man's word for it? Ro-man's really crazy, and creepy. He likes it when I say his name. Wow, super subtle, you sicko," Saiai responded with a nonchalant shrug.

"Yes, yes… that's all well and good. This specimen of ours is going to die, if we don't pump her full with fast food, and pour a small lake down her throat. Experience, as well as my own infallible calculations tell me that, a human in this condition has approximately… eighty-five hours to live, based on body weight, height, lung capacity, and the presence of infected wounds. Self-inflicted? Likely," Devastator rambled, as it began to set Ayu carefully onto the ground.

It placed its finger to a long slit on Ayu's right wrist, and waved the trio of young women to its side. Kuroko did so with only a second of hesitation, and Saiai seemed utterly confident. Awaki remained standing at a distance. She had lowered her flashlight, but she hadn't unhanded it. Kuroko crouched a few feet away from Devastator, as Saiai looked over the teleporter's shoulder.

"See, here; adherent, hardened yellow slough, redness around this wound, further pointing to infection, if the nasty omelet wasn't enough for you. You humans have disgusting insides." Devastator commentated, as its metallic digits hovered over the wound. Kuroko's stomach, steeled by years in the field, both as part of Judgment, and later, as part of Anti Skill could handle this. Saiai, however, made a disgusted facial expression.

"Why don't we just super amputate? I think I can super handle that," Saiai stated, cracking her knuckles. Kuroko's brow furrowed, and Devastator swivelled its head to face the petite esper.

"If this untreated infection triggers, or has triggered an irrepressible response from her body's immune system, sepsis could be a very real possibility, Kinuhata Saiai. Amputation would do little, in such a scenario," Devastator explained.

"Why are you super taking me seriously, and why are you ro-man, MD, all of a sudden?" Saiai inquired, as she rose up, and moved to the side of Musujime Awaki, who seemed to be examining her surroundings. Her head moved around, slowly, as her eyes moved from side to side.

"MD?" I'm flattered, Kinuhata Saiai, but this is all just inborn knowledge; why I would need information regarding the human anatomy is beyond my scope of knowing," the machine responded. Though the introduction of its response had been sarcastic in its delivery, its conclusion was more grounded in seriousness.

"There's someone who might be able to take care of her. All things considered, last person I ended up trying to forcibly hospitalize, well… that didn't quite go as planned," Kuroko admitted with a frustrated sigh. Awaki raised an eyebrow quizzically, but reasoned that she could find out more at a later date.

"That was different, Deputy. My mother didn't need to be hospitalized; waste of taxpayers' money," Devastator stated, before it rose up to its full height, and placed its hand around its wireframe chin. "Well, candidly speaking, Academy City in and of itself is a waste of taxpayers' money, isn't it?"

"Let's focus on the issue at hand, Devastator. I'm going to take this woman to someone who I know will save her, no matter what Academy City's like. I'll only be gone a minute; take my phone, and get in contact with Uiharu and my g-girlfriend, please? We need to rendezvous, I think, before we take any more steps," Kuroko spoke, as she offered the device to the machine. Once again, Musujime Awaki found herself feeling perturbed. "What do you and this thing have, Shirai? Girlfriend? Ha, things are still changing, even if they've changed so much already. That's life."

"Certainly, since you asked so politely, Deputy," Devastator replied, sounding genuinely pleased. However, before Kuroko could move to offer her phone to the machine, it held up a finger. "I'll need to ask our princess one quick question, before I can do that."

Devastator leaned back down, and, placing both of its hands on Ayu's shoulders, the metallic monstrosity gave Ayu's form a shake. One, then twice, and finally, when she failed to rise, a third time, Devastator closed its fist, and slammed it into the ground next to Mental Stinger's ear. With a shriek, Ayu's eyes shot open, following in her mouth's footsteps.

"Wakey, wakey, shaky, shaky, princess," Devastator purred, as it loomed over Mental Stinger. "Supirium. Where is it? Don't force me to add my act of kindness to my extensive list of regrets."

Mitsuari Ayu, shaking violently, struggled to get her lips working. She wiggled her tongue inside of her mouth, as she swiftly inhaled, and then exhaled just as swiftly, struggling to catch the breath that had outran her.

"Can't…"

"Tell me, or I'll kill you. Despite your stunt, I don't think you really want to die. If you did, you would've finished what you started." Devastator pointed to the young woman's wrist, and then to the adjacent thigh.

"Loading bay. Trucks… outside. Kihara… dead. No point. Why did you…? When you threaten me, now?"

"Only so that I might bring a smile to the face of a forgetful, spiky-haired dullard. For the record, and solely for the record, I'm much obliged for your assistance. I'll take good care of the place, and the Supirium."

Rising up, Devastator cautiously took the phone from the outstretched hand of Shirai Kuroko, and, its fingers fiddled with the buttons until it found the specific one that unlocked the device. As Kuroko touched the outstretched arm of the barely-conscious Ayu, the two vanished.

Devastator navigated to the phone's calling app, then, to call history, where it found the number of a contact known as "princess mikoto 3 3 3". The metallic monstrosity emulated the sound of a human's sigh, as it swiftly dialed the number into the phone's keypad. Saiai's eyes practically spun inside of her head, as she watched the machine's digits move. Finally, Devastator demanded that the device call the dialed number.

For a few seconds, there was little more than the sound of the device attempting to connect the call.

"Kuroko?! Kuroko, is that you? Kuroko?" Misaka Mikoto's voice called from the other end. She sounded relieved, and deeply happy. Devastator began to move about, slowly, causing its body to hum. It felt 'regret', as it began to speak.

"'fraid not, Railgun. The Deputy's away, at the moment, and asked me to contact you and my mother, so that we could have a party," Devastator replied.

Devastator could hear a faint mumbling; it could hear something along the lines of "oh, God…" produced by Misaka Mikoto. A few seconds of silence passed, before Mikoto's voice returned. "Tell Kuroko to come to my apartment… don't know how you're going to get, or fit in, robot. Actually, I'd really prefer it if you didn't come."

The machine emulated the sound of an offended-sounding "humph", as the plates on its wireframe head moved about, in a failing attempt to form a facial expression. "I see how it is then, Railgun. That's all fine and well; I'm moving, anyways, so I won't have time to converse with you. When you're finished, could you be a sweetheart, and have the Deputy bring my mother to the Reformatory? Do it, and I'll be your best friend!"

"Fuck, you're really starting to remind me of someone, robot… not liking it." Mikoto commented with something of a snarl. "Well, sort of… they're not really here, anymore."

"My condolences," the machine spoke, quite genuinely.

Mikoto sighed, and, on the other end, Uiharu Kazari had raised an eyebrow, as she sat, rather reluctantly on the edge of Mikoto's bed, her brow furrowed. She had been ripped from her thoughts by Mikoto's statement; it was something she'd have to find out more about.

"They're not dead. They're much changed," Mikoto finally responded, after multiple failed attempts at re-wording her statement.

Kuroko returned, blinking into existence. Though she frowned, she appeared to light up at the sight of her phone's active calling screen.

"That's always good, isn't it? Times change, as my mother once said. Of course, people change, too. You know, on the topic, I've never liked the idea of a "status quo". Do you know what the term means? A state of affairs that is a constant. It's all phooey, if you ask me. Nothing's a constant. The "status quo" is a term thrown around by those who choose to demonize their own lack of strength to take action."

"… what, exactly does this have to do with our "conversation?" Mikoto inquired. She felt unnerved, and a cold chill ran down her spine, as Mikoto's arms were suddenly covered in goosebumps. Kazari noticed this, having head the machine's words for herself, through Mikoto's phone's external speaker, she could only shrug indifferently.

"Nothing; forgive the tangent. It's just, you brought the idea to my head, well, back into my head, Railgun, and I decided to talk about it. I'll send the Deputy on her way, back to your waiting arms, and possibly legs – not sure how that's going to work, unless one of you… never mind," Devastator rambled, as it handed the device off to Kuroko.

"Mikoto? Hi, baby… do you still have Uiharu? Is everything smooth?" The teleporter asked.

Mikoto started slightly at Kuroko's use of a pet name; if she wasn't feeling so anxious and unnerved, she would've blushed. Instead, she could only absorb the animal comfort her lover's voice offered, and the warmness that swept over her, when it caressed her mind.

"I do. Kazari's with me; that… thing, said you wanted to "have a party?" Mikoto inquired.

"We need to bring ourselves together, and figure out what's even going on, here, what we're doing, and how we're going to do whatever it is we're going to do. So far, we're just running from place to place, doing things, or seeing things happen. We need a solid plan, real reasoning, of some sort," Kuroko replied, a bit more firmly than she'd wanted to. "I just know that I'm done with sitting around and watching everything I care for go to shit."

"I… I understand, Kuroko. Alright. We're going to get something going, here. I'll see you soon, and we'll get to work, on… whatever it is that we're doing. We'll make something happen." Misaka Mikoto stated, with confidence that made Shirai Kuroko's heart soar. She loved hearing that tone of voice coming from her electric princess.

Kuroko turned, and, in her peripheral vision, she saw the smiling face of Musujime Awaki, who winked at her. Kinuhata Saiai appeared to be pestering Devastator, who was returning her phone. The petite esper nodded in approval, and pocketed the device.

"I can't wait to see you again, and I can't wait until… somehow, through whatever means, we can make everything right," Kuroko stated, as she forced back a wave of emotions, that threatened to consume and drown her very consciousness. Kuroko reluctantly hung up her phone, just as Mikoto did on the other end – Kuroko had heard half of the beep that she associated with the call being disconnected, before she proceeded to do so from her side of the line. She pocketed the device, and turned to face the machine, and her compatriots.

"Musujime, Kinuhata, Devastator and I…"

"Uh, uh, Deputy – I'll be remaining here," the metallic monstrosity interrupted, raising a hand. "I'm going to be taking over this Reformatory, and I plan to repurpose it to serve as my evil lair; the puppet master said Lifeline is dead, during our earlier chat. Is this true? I'd like to think so."

"Therestina… yes, Devastator, she's dead. Kinuhata saw to that," Kuroko replied, as she felt her stomach churn.

Devastator shrugged its shoulders, and began to pace, as its shoulders bounced. Musujime Awaki's eyes followed the machine, as she clicked her tongue. "In a way, this is a win, lose, matter; there's one less Kihara in the world, but, Lifeline could've known something about where they're keeping my boy. Of course, with the benefit of hindsight considered, I doubt she would've survived the Q&A."

Kuroko turned her attention to Saiai, first, who returned Kuroko's gaze. The petite esper raised an eyebrow, and stuck out her tongue.

"I'm guessing you'll be leaving? Unless Devastator is willing to continue to pay for your "services"? Kuroko questioned, to which Saiai giggled.

"You're super getting the hang of this; as long as ro-man keeps the yen coming, I'm super yours. If I were you, which I'm glad I'm super not – dick is too enjoyable of a thing to give up – I'd hire the super cute, sexy freelancer. I'd super hire me," Saiai spoke, as Kuroko forcibly bit down on her tongue.

Shirai Kuroko then turned her attention to Musujime Awaki, who smirked at her, and nodded her head upwards in greetings. "So, I know we're standing in a warzone… but, tell me, Shirai, are you bringing back the Legion? Is Kamijou – well, more accurately, are the Kamijous going to be the Commanders? Or are you? Don't really see any other people fit for the job, aside from the three of you… still so funny, how much of a BAMF Mental Out's become."

Kuroko frowned, and, it was something that Awaki quickly picked up on; Move Point had some idea as to why her once-foe's facial expression had saddened.

"I don't even know, Musujime. We're still figuring this all out, Mikoto and me, and, I guess Uiharu, and Devastator…?" Kuroko turned to face the machine, who swivelled its head to the side.

"I finish what I start, Deputy. Since everything's gone so well, I'm changing the pacing of my evil plan, just a bit, tweaking some things. If you can manage to get my mother here, she and I will talk over our options; I'll need to have the works, and something to cover up the old birthday suit. It really all comes down to how much Supirium I find in that there Reformatory, if any, which I assume I will. I think I made it fairly clear that I'm not to be crossed... not that I'd harm the puppet master," the machine explained.

Kuroko had one last question; depending on the answer she received from Devastator, the proverbial path she walked, one she wasn't even completely sure existed, despite the fact that it seemed to constantly be beneath her feet, would change, as she found herself suddenly standing at a fork. Shirai Kuroko's higher mind braced itself for whatever answer it was provided with.

"Devastator, the remaining people in the Reformatory. Assuming that they're now out of that woman's ability's area of effect, what do you plan to do with them?" Kuroko asked, firmness in her tone of voice. Kuroko's brow furrowed slightly, as she looked towards the metallic monstrosity, unblinking.

"I have some ideas, none of which involve their deaths, at least, not immediately," Devastator explained; Kuroko found herself cringing slightly at the machine's mimicking of human body language, as it spoke. "Until I find good evidence to suggest that these people are anything other than confused, strung-up puppets, or once-slaves to the recently passed Lifeline, bless her soul, no harm will come to them."

Kuroko nodded in affirmation. "Indecision is worse than an honest answer. I guess, if it was going to kill all of the people, it'd have no reason to lie. Not even Mikoto could stop it, at least not permanently. If I'm going to try and understand Devastator, and try and help it, I'll need to… trust it…?"

Musujime Awaki, stretching her arms upwards, spoke up, forcing Kuroko out of her internal musings. The teleporter's body jumped slightly, startled.

"Let me know what's happening, Shirai. We need to catch up. If someone's reforming the Legion, good luck. I want you to know that there's a place for you at the Idiot's bar. I'm trying to keep myself out of trouble, but, aside from being a masochistic bag of shit, he has more practical uses. One of the tightest marksmen I know. Before I forget, do we even have each other's numbers, anymore? Last time we checked in with one another, we were… heh." Awaki chuckled quietly, to which Kuroko couldn't help but let her brow unfurrow, slightly.

"Getting over some bumps, Musujime," Kuroko spoke, finishing Awaki's statement. "I don't think I have yours. Let me check?"

Kuroko did so, only to discover that she did, indeed have Awaki as a contact. Kuroko offered her phone to Move Point, to ensure that the mobile number that was listed under the contact's information was the correct number; it was, and Awaki offered a nod as she returned the device to its owner.

"Yup. That's it. Like I said, if things get heated, and you need an out of the way place to dive into, just ring me, or text me. Don't bring the heat with you, though," Awaki said, as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

Saiai had climbed onto Devastator's back, and had her arms and legs wrapped around the machine's torso. The metallic monstrosity didn't seem perturbed by the fact that it was being used as a jungle gym, as it simply shifted its weight, and occasionally, its body produced soft humming, as it moved.

"I'm super tired; ro-man. Will you carry me like you carried that super messed up-looking girl?" Saiai inquired.

"You don't seem to be incapable of walking, Kinuhata Saiai. The puppet master could barely function, let alone walk," Devastator responded, with what sounded like an offended tone of voice, as it swivelled its head to the side, to observe Saiai's movements.

Saiai pouted. "I'll super say your name again, if you do! I know you like it, you creep!"

"It's a matter of preference; "ro-man" is far from an ideal name, by anyone's standards, I'm sure. Would you like it if I called you "irritating little woman"? The machine rhetorically inquired. Musujime Awaki offered a single wave to Shirai Kuroko, who smiled in response, and then to Kinuhata Saiai, who stuck out her tongue. Prior to a blink of Kuroko's eyes, Move Point stood before her. When they re-opened after closing for a fraction of a second, Move Point was gone.

"She super left me behind! What a bitch!" Saiai exclaimed angrily, as she jumped down from Devastator's back. Her booted feet touched the ground with two audible clacks from either of her heels. "Also, ro-man, if you super called me that I would super mess you up."

Devastator 'chuckled'; Kuroko noticed that the sound was beginning to resemble something that sounded more like a sound that a human being was capable of producing. Though it still sounded wrong, in a way that Kuroko couldn't quite put a finger on, she could distinctly detect something more natural in the vocalization. "I'm sure you could, Kinuhata Saiai. If you're interested, I may just have more work for you. No killing, though, not yet. In fact, I'll offer you additional payment, in exchange for your restraint," the machine spoke.

Saiai cocked her head, and, folding her arms, the petite esper seemed to fall into a state of contemplation.

"I'm… going to get going; Mikoto and Uiharu are waiting," Kuroko spoke up. Her voice came out smaller than she'd hoped it would, and, as she heard her own vocalization, she couldn't help but feel that it was so weak, and so pathetic-sounding. There was supposed to be a fourth person, here. There was a piece missing, a piece that Kuroko didn't believe would ever be fit back in.

"Farewell, Deputy. Chin up, our future is bright, brighter than you know. When change comes a-knocking, the door to a proper life will open, and we'll all be invited to stay, as equals," Devastator explained. Saiai still seemed to be contemplating what, exactly, she was going to do, in regards to the offer presented to her.

Kuroko feigned a smile, and closed her eyes. "I hope so." In an instant, the required series of calculations were performed by Kuroko's mind, and the teleporter vanished in an instant.

Saiai's eyes lit up, as she came to a decision. "I'll super do it; if I'm going to be working for you, how much am I going to be super paid? Where are you getting all this money, ro-man? I mean, you could be burning orphanages and super selling the dead kids for all I care, I'm just curious."

"The apparently endless wealth-fountain of one of my fathers, is the source; you needn't know any more than that," the machine stated cryptically, as it rolled its shoulders. "Let's say, for a starting rate, ¥7037, hourly? I don't see any problems, there. Rather generous. As well, an hourly wage ensures your loyalty," Devastator explained.

"I'm super hurt, ro-man. You don't trust me? Oh well, I can't complain. It super beats a nine to five!" Saiai exclaimed, throwing her head back, as if she were issuing a challenge. Saiai's brown hair was tossed about as she did so. She took the lead, hips waving from side to side. Devastator's body hummed, as it followed behind its new 'employee'.

Shirai Kuroko poured three glasses of water; one for herself, one, lovingly, for her girlfriend, and one, somewhat begrudgingly for Uiharu Kazari. Placing the pitcher back into the fridge of Misaka Mikoto's kitchen, Kuroko was slow, and cautious. Once the hard plastic pitcher touched safely down on the fridge's first shelf, Kuroko relinquished her tight grip on the pitcher's handle, and closed the fridge's door. Kuroko collected the three glasses in her shaky hands, and brought them to Mikoto's bedroom.

Upon entering the room, Kuroko found herself conflicted. Mikoto smiled thinly up at her girlfriend, a sight that both brought so much joy to Kuroko, but through its weakness, also brought her sadness. Laying unceremoniously on the bed, eyes closed, and snoring softly was Uiharu Kazari. It looked to Kuroko that she'd suddenly fallen asleep at the helm, and simply fell backwards in her unconscious state.

"Is Uiharu okay?" Kuroko questioned, as she handed Mikoto her glass. The Railgun took it, carefully, from her lover, and, took a long sip. The clear, cool liquid slipped down Mikoto's throat, as it quenched the thirst she hadn't had the energy to tend to. Kuroko set Kazari's glass down on the drawer across from the foot of her electric princess' bed, a few inches away from the small mirror, which stood erect on legs of gold-colored metal.

Mikoto looked back to her once-friend. The electromaster's eyes locked with Kazari's own closed eyes, and she shuddered, slightly. In slumber, Uiharu Kazari looked strangely peaceful. She almost looked like the Uiharu Kazari that Misaka Mikoto had once known, so many long years ago. The hatred, and the overwhelming malice that was usually painted on Kazari's face weren't present. "Hardly," Mikoto finally answered. "It was Hell getting her here; she wanted to go back to that hole in the ground, the one she climbed out of. Anti Skill is probably keeping an eye on it, and… I guess, I don't want to see someone I used to know get arrested.

"Even if she hit me, Kuroko, even if she's not even close to being the person we knew, when we were all younger, we were her friends. I feel that we can be again, if we can just reach her."

Kuroko took a sip of her own water, and set her glass down next to Kazari's, on the drawer, and sat herself down next to Mikoto. The teleporter took her electric princess' hand in her own, and inhaled deeply. Mikoto's fingers tightly gripped one end of her girlfriend's fingers, while her thumb gripped the other. With Kuroko at her side, Mikoto felt just a little bit better.

"Can we, though?" Kuroko asked, quietly, as she looked once again at Kazari, through her peripheral vision. The Thermal Hand user's chest rose slowly, rhythmically, and then set back into place, with each breath her sleeping body took. "She looks fine, now, but, as soon as she awakens, she'll be ranting and raving again, Mikoto."

"What did that robot do to her? I heard it call her mother, and she explained to me, during our visit that she had something to do with creating it. Both her and that thing spoke about the Kiharas, and, that thing talked about… him. Kihara Gensei," Mikoto spoke.

Kuroko nodded. "During its visit with the Kamijous, Devastator revealed a lot to them, and, because I was acting as the meeting's mediator, to me, as well. We spent a little bit of time together, and I already told you a little bit, when we spoke before the Kamijous met with Devastator, about this… Kihara Gunpei?

"I did some research of my own, but, no such individual exists. Not a lot about any of the Kiharas in what's left of Anti Skill's databases, though, that doesn't mean a lot. It seems to have a hard time even talking about this Kihara Gunpei without becoming very, very angry, so, I don't think Devastator's lying. Such genuine emotional responses would be…"

Mikoto interrupted, her grip on her girlfriend's hand tightening. "Kuroko, it's a robot, not a person! It could just be playing us all, and especially you! You're so kind-hearted, so willing to help everyone and anyone who needs it, it… Kuroko, I don't like any of this."

Shaking her head, Kuroko closed her eyes, and, inhaling, and then exhaling deeply, she turned her gaze to Mikoto's. "I don't want to believe that, Mikoto. It had the perfect chance to kill me, more than one, in fact, and it didn't. I think Devastator genuinely wants to do good, and change Academy City for the better.

"Could you be right, and could I be wrong? Absolutely. I just don't see how, when it had some many perfectly good chances to kill me, and it never took them, or seemed to be thinking about it. The OFFICER Network is the greater threat, Mikoto, and it's the first thing that needs to go. We need a greater Anti Skill presence, we need to bring Judgment back, and, most of all… we need to get our lives back."

"I feel like this just comes naturally for you, Kuroko," Mikoto said, as her eyes grew moist. "You've always been this… this natural born leader, the glue who always held us together. You, me, Kongou-san, Konori-san… Saten-san… Uiharu… -san… you were always the one holding everything together, Kuroko, and, even in the midst of this chaos, this turmoil, you still are. You're just so brave."

Kuroko removed her hand from her lover's, and placed both of her hands to Mikoto's cheeks, turning the electromaster's face to hers. Kuroko's eyes looked into Mikoto's, as the teleporter managed a weak smile. Without regret, and without hesitation, Kuroko pecked Mikoto on the lips.

The Railgun's cheeks began to glow pink, tears dripping from closed, moist eyes. Mikoto's lips quietly smacked against Kuroko's, as she felt animal comfort return to her once again. Before their interaction could escalate, Kuroko pulled away. "Don't count yourself out, or discredit yourself, Mikoto. You're one of the bravest people I know. To have been through what you've been through is, in and of itself, an accomplishment beyond all accomplishments. You've faced challenges beyond most peoples' wildest imaginations… or nightmares. You, the Railgun, the Ace of Tokiwadai, became the Ace of Academy City, not only to me, but to so many people."

"As Academy City became weaker, so did we. We are tied to Academy City, like newborn fetuses, umbilical cords still dangling, attached to the body of our abusive, neglectful birthmother." Kuroko and Mikoto's heads both whipped around. Though Kazari remained laying on Mikoto's bed, her eyes as opened slightly, and she stared up at the baby blue ceiling.

"Uiharu?" Kuroko inquired, as softly as she could manage. Kazari's eyes slid to the right inside of her head, as they looked to Kuroko's form.

"A crude analogy, I'm aware, but hear me. Like all fetuses, we need our umbilical cords cut; there's but one problem. There's no doctor to free us. We have to free ourselves, and… care for our aging, neglectful birthmother, or watch her die, as she takes us with her."

Both Mikoto and Kuroko spent some few seconds simply staring at Kazari, and then, they looked to one another.

"There's a lot you don't know, not even you, Misaka -san, despite your mingling with what some refer to as "the dark side of Academy City"; a convenient umbrella term. There's a lot not even I know, despite my interactions with those who swim in the disgusting, sticky slough of this City's darkest core. Kihara Gensei, Therestina Kihara Lifeline, and, Kihara Noukan, and quite possibly the worst of them all, Kihara… Gunpei." Kazari's body shuddered, as the final name in her list left her lips. "Kihara Gunpei is evil incarnate. Utterly, completely, irreparably unhinged, an unfeeling, scheming, calculating psychopath, in every sense of the word. A rapist, a murderer, and a man who sought to invade the realm of God."

Kuroko's lips parted, and, without thinking, an inquiry left her lips. "Uiharu, this Kihara Gunpei, you said he's the son of Kihara… who?"

"Kihara Amata," Uiharu Kazari answered. "You might know of him, "Ace". He had involvement with both the Accelerator, and one of your… "Sisters", as well as other parties, whose allegiances are unknown, even to my prying eyes. What little data remains of the incidents refers to something known as "the Index"; some sort of unearthed artefact, or, perhaps, a codename for some unknown piece of tech."

Mikoto scowled at the thought of Kihara Amata, and the bloody legacy he'd left behind. Accelerator's recanting of the incident still remained fresh in her mind, even if it had occurred almost seven years ago.

"So, Devastator was created by… the son of Kihara Amata? The man who tried to kill Accelerator-san and Last Order?" Kuroko inquired. "I still have so many questions. What do you have to do with all of this, Uiharu? What happened to Saten-san?"

"That turncoat's off somewhere, doing who knows what; she's probably not even in Academy City anymore. I bet she fucked the both of you, just like she fucked me. Who cares, really? What did she really do, aside from generally get in the way, and steal oxygen?" Kazari inquired rhetorically. "What "do I have to do" with "all of this"? You already know some of it…" Kazari rose up quickly, as blood rushed from her skull. Dizziness overtook Kazari, while she extended her legs, and turned her head towards Mikoto.

"Shirai-san and I had a little chat, before she tried to… rehabilitate me, as I told you earlier. When D-001 calls me mother, it's not really lying. I had as much of a hand in giving birth to it… creating it, and, more to my despair, seeing to its self-awareness. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort, of sorts. Myself, and two rotting old men worked on that mistake," Kazari replied, somewhat reluctantly. To Kuroko, Kazari seemed to have taken on the mannerisms of a scared child, fearing a wrathful adult's reprisal.

"Two other old men?" Mikoto pried.

"Does it matter? I worked alongside the brilliant, but severely developmentally lacking Dr. Chiro, and Shokuhou Daisuke."

Misaka Mikoto's eyes widened, and Shirai Kuroko's lips parted.

"Did you say… S-Shokuhou?" Mikoto prodded, as her voice began to rise in volume.

"Yes, that Shokuhou, well, formerly. The Mental Out's father was never particularly fond of the Imagine Breaker, believed his daughter should've been breeding into… wealthier, more influential stock; he wished for his daughter to be the perfect little trophy wife." Kazari commented. "Surprisingly, the cowardice his nature as a high-class programming tycoon would usually come pre-packaged with wasn't present."

"You seem to know a lot about this man, Uiharu." Kuroko commented, almost suspiciously. It was something Mikoto caught onto fairly quickly. The electromaster assumed Kazari picked up the tone present in Kuroko's voice, as well, but she didn't seem to be perturbed by it.

Kazari chuckled, as she rolled one shoulder, and then the other. "Chiro and I got to know him well; maybe a little bit too well. We're on a bit of a tangent, aren't we? The topic of conversation, here, was the Kiharas, as it's always been, at least within this City's walls. Let's move back towards it.

"The Kiharas aren't the only problem in Academy City. The Board, and our Supreme Leader Faceless Director are probably with them, or, at least, are probably funding the Kiharas' continued existence. In exchange, I'd like to imagine that the Kiharas helped them "stabilize" Academy City, when it was on the brink… if this is the case, one likely won't be able to survive without the other."

Kuroko sighed, out of what sounded to both Mikoto and Kazari like a mix of frustration and desperation. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Kuroko began to speak. "So, this is our starting point? The OFFICER Network has to go, if things are going to get better, but, how do we kill something like the Network? On the other hand, we go head to head with two of Academy City's superpowers? I knew this, whatever "this" is wasn't going to be easy, but, I never thought we'd be… looking at something like this."

Kazari moved her hands to her eyes, and, clenching her hands into fists, she rubbed them against her closed eyes, as she softly yawned. "Between D-001's incessant rambling about change, and Misaka… Mikoto… somehow managing to connive me into coming here, I guess I only have one choice; I'll help plot our inevitable doom. After a terrible night's "rest", and I use the term extremely loosely. If the three of us have a concealed weapon placed against our necks, one after the other, resulting in our quick, gruesome demises, know that, at least, you're not Saten levels of horrible. Where do I sleep? I need it."

"Kuroko? Can we go to your apartment? That way, Kazari can have my place to herself," Mikoto suggested; Kazari's yawn had brought out one of her own. In some twisted, perverse way, Misaka Mikoto felt that things were feeling oddly normal. They were missing Saten Ruiko, but, that didn't have to stop them. Mikoto felt her eyes becoming moist, yet again. It was becoming an all too familiar feeling.

"Absolutely," Kuroko quickly answered. "I know you're not really set up to handle a lot of people; which is fine, of course! I don't mean, it like that. I know…"

"Please don't leave me alone."

Again, Kuroko and Mikoto turned their heads to face Uiharu Kazari, whose eyes were staring down at the Gekota-themed comforter of Mikoto's bed. A small, extremely-weak looking smile was on Kazari's face, as positive, warm memories flooded her mind. Kazari thought back to the many times she and her friends had visited Joseph's Coffee and Restaurant, their trips to Playland Gau, and to the underground mall.

Uiharu Kazari thought back to the first instance in which she'd met Shirai Kuroko, as blurry as it was. There's wasn't a lot she could remember, but she could remember Kuroko's wide, bright smile. Kazari remembered Judgment, and the years she'd spent as part of the organization, when she'd been a shy, easily-flustered, flower headband-wearing elementary, and then middle schooler. When everything had been okay.

"Kazari?" Kuroko inquired.

"I hate you both. Please don't leave me, that's all I'm asking of you."

Without so much as another word, Kuroko grasped the hand of her beloved electric princess, took the wrist of Uiharu Kazari into her other available hand, and vanished.


	25. A Certain Awakening

September 23rd 2014. 5:01 AM.

To say that the Dreadsaw Gang, or, more specifically, Sharkbite was unprepared would be a gross understatement. Being a guardian, or a role model to anyone was far from his forte. He and his compatriots didn't even have a semi-permanent place of refuge; in a surprisingly (for a ruined Academy City) tidy hotel room, whose twin queen-sized bed were tidily put together, Sharkbite had laid himself out on one bed, while Kihara Enshuu sat at the end of the other.

In the next door room over, one of the few rooms in this hotel that actually had people staying in it, Sharkbite could hear the loud, and quite obviously exaggerated shrieks of a female. The sound was tinny, as if it was being played over a low quality set of barely-functional television speakers, and the sounds of the Watcher's characteristically loud cheers and whoops caused a vein in Sharkbite's forehead to throb.

Why, exactly, had he chosen to do this? To "rescue" this young woman? He didn't quite know. He had been telling the truth, in a manner of speaking, when he'd told off Burglar. He needed to keep his nose out of Sharkbite's business; he was the founder of this thing, the man in charge, so to speak.

Sharkbite felt an unusual tremor travel down his spine as he thought those words. "Man in charge". His mind recalled, as best as it could, the words of Kihara Gunpei. While his mind's recollections of Gunpei's words might not have been completely accurate, he remembered that machine's words well enough; he always would.

"You'll listen to ME, D-001! You'll obey me, you'll fucking do what I tell you to do! You're the robot, the automaton, the manmade thing, the object that exists to be TOLD what to DO, to… to be used, and then disposed of! I'm the man, and you're the robot, and I'M in charge!"

"There is no man in charge."

With that, the metallic monstrosity had torn Kihara Gunpei's legs from their sockets, in a singular, swift motion, Its arms had come apart, descending into what looked like a metallic mist. They'd wrapped around Kihara Gunpei's legs, and the grey, sparkling mist seemed to have torn the flesh away, and then, it had shredded his bones. The scene replayed itself in Sharkbite's mind, and Sharkbite could still hear that bastard's screaming, inside of his head. Sharkbite could see the bastard's pained, animalistic expression; his eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth wide, blood spurting from his nostrils, as he choked on his own vomit. The screams had been barely recognizable as sounds that could've been produced by a human being.

Kihara Enshuu rose up from the end of the bed she had been sitting upon, with a considerable bounce in her step. She was adorned in a baggy, white, woolen long-sleeved shirt that guarded her posterior from view, a pair of fashionable, tight-fitting jeans, and, though she wore only white socks on her feet, a pair of trainers sat near the door of the hotel. Enshuu wore her dark hair long, and, though mostly straight, it had something of a slight, natural wave to it.

"What's the matter, Sasquatch-oniisan? Can't sleep?" Enshuu inquired, as she stretched her body from side to side.

"Not really trying; plenty of time to sleep when I'm fuckin' dead. If it happens, it happens. If not, no tears from me. 'll just need a coffee, or something," Sharkbite rambled. With his arms behind his head, his chest expanded, as he inhaled deeply, and then exhaled with considerable force. "You should get to bed, though. It's pretty late. Big day, tomorrow. You're gonna be free, to do whatever you please. No more people… touching you. Wish that robot finished the goddamn job."

"Robot? You mean Devastator-oniichan? Yeah, he messed Gunpei-Sama up pretty bad. Gunpei-Sama got a lot angrier after that," Enshuu commented in response. Sharkbite turned his head to one side.

"You know about that ugly fucking thing?" Sharkbite inquired, not expecting any sort of real answer. Surprisingly, he got one, from a source who he never would've imagined.

"I sometimes watched Devastator-oniichan play with the people you and Pete-oniisan brought! He was really cool, but he was kind of rough. I liked it when he, kind of, broke apart, and floated through people, and they ended up being all dizzy," Enshuu responded. "I wonder why he didn't do that to me, when we met a bit ago."

"Fuck Pete; his buried, stank-ass skeleton is an insult to dirt everywhere. The robot's fucked. It doesn't know what the fuck it wants to be. Drop it, it doesn't matter."

"Sasquatch-oniisan, why are you so angry?"

Sharkbite had to admit, the question was a good one; he also had to admit that she had the right to ask. He'd spent the entire evening grumbling, or yelling at one of his comrades about something, mostly the Watcher.

"These fucking morons," Sharkbite raised a hand, and motioned to the room next to theirs, in which the tinny sounds of female moans continued to blare, "think I'm trying to be some sort of stupid hero. Since fucking when does getting someone out of a fucked up situation constitute bein' a "hero"? Thinkin' about just popping 'em both. Dunno.

"I get it; I kill people. I've killed a whole bunch of people, Enshe… Enshou? Whatever the fuck your name is, I've killed, I've robbed, I've mugged pregnant women at fucking gunpoint, I'm not someone who's supposed to be helpin' people.

"These motherfuckers don't know when to separate they business from they personal lives; that shit's business, no matter how fucked up it all is, not personal. You do what you gots to do."

Enshuu cocked her head to one side, causing her hair to fall to the side with it. "You sound really Kihara-like, Sasquatch-oniisan. I wish I could be that Kihara-like!"

"Ain't the first to say that, actually."

Kihara Enshuu stared at Sharkbite, for a moment, before she moved her neck back towards the center of her shoulders. "I had to get up, but I feel better now. I think I'm going to sleep, now. Goodnight, Sasquatch-oniisan!"

"Yeah. Night. Sleep tight, or whatever."

As Enshuu threw herself back onto the beg, Sharkbite swallowed hard. There was something odd, some unknown feeling in his gut. Where did it come from, and, more importantly, why was it here? He reasoned that he was tired; exhausted, in fact. His mind was delirious, in need of rest.

September 23rd 2014. 6:15 AM.

Kamijou Misaki didn't quite know how she was going to tackle the situation that'd thrown itself in her path; she'd been awakened by a sharp ringing produced by her charging phone. It could've been a notification to a text message, perhaps, sent by any number of people; Misaka Mikoto, Accelerator, Tsuchimikado Motoharu, Shirai Kuroko, or even her beloved in-laws, the two people who'd been more like parents to her over the last decade than her own birthparents had ever been. Instead, it had been a notification regarding a recently received e-mail.

As Misaki had opened it, she'd discovered the truth of the matter. It'd been an e-mail sent directly by a member of the Board of Directors; or, his name was on the digital document, at least. Misaki's pulse quickened, as she moved to wake her husband.

Kamijou Touma didn't jolt awake; rather, he slowly, groggily, and, with his head pounding, grumbled himself into consciousness. He heard oddly watery sounds, as if he was underwater, and someone, whose lips were moving above the water's surface, was talking to him. He could make out the franticness in the voice, and, as his eyes widened, he recognized the source of the vocalizations; Kamijou Misaki.

"Baby, wake up? Please? There is something here that you need to see, and I do not know what to do. Baby?" Misaki's hands fell to Touma's broad shoulders, as she began to attempt to kiss him into the waking world. Her lips, as softly as she could manage, were placed repeatedly against her husband's cheeks, until she felt his fingers snake between her own.

"I'm up, beautiful. You're good, come 'ere. Everything's going to be okay." Touma rose up, pushing himself from he and his wife's bed with his available arm, and then took his wife into an embrace, one which she quickly returned, as he began to run his fingers along his wife's back. Between placing soft, passionate kisses atop her head, Touma inquired, "What happened, huh? Want to tell me? Was it a nightmare, or…?"

Misaki placed a kiss to her husband's chest, before she reluctantly broke away from his embrace. Reaching to the floor next to her side of their bed, she unplugged her phone's charging cord, and handed her phone to Touma, who, squinting due to the brightness of the device's screen clashing with the darkness of their bedroom, ran his eyes to the bottom of the page.

It was clearly an e-mail, and an important-looking one, at that. At the bottom of the message, the emblem of the Academy City Board of Directors was present. Next to it was a small, completely illegible series of scribbled lines, which Touma assumed to be a signature.

Kamijou Touma's eyes ran back to the top of the page, as Kamijou Misaki laid herself back down in their bed, and, snuggling as closely to her husband as possible, she wrapped her arms around his right arm. Touma moved his face away from Misaki's phone to kiss his distressed wife, and smiled down at her, as she began to thinly smile back.

"Smile for me, you starry-eyed beauty. Please? O-only if you want to, of course… I just love seeing that perfect smile. Can I see it, Misaki?"

Despite herself, and despite the distress she found herself in, she smiled, as best as she could manage, as she closed her eyes, and nuzzled Touma's arm. "Anything for you, my prince. Anything. You deserve everything good in this world."

"And I've got it, laying here beside me," Touma softly responded; Misaki moved her arms away from her husband's own arm, and then wrapped them around his waist.

Touma's eyes returned to the first paragraph of the e-mail, as they narrowed, not only due to the screen's brightness, but also due to his own apprehension.

"Dearest Kamijou-san,

Your presence has been requested by the Director of Academy City. A critical matter has been developing, as of recent, one that has been deemed a threat to Academy City's security, to the security of the Director of Academy City, and the security of their people. As a countermeasure, the Director has decreed that Academy City's level fives; the Accelerator, Dark Matter, the Railgun, Meltdowner, Mental Out (yourself) Restraint Destruction, and "number seven" are to present themselves in a timely fashion (approx. 1:00 PM, and no later) for briefing on this critical matter, at the established rendezvous point.

Furthermore, failure to respond to the request of the Director of Academy City will result in penalization, in the form of an immediate, total cease of city-provided stipends, as well as deprivation of city-provided medical and related health services.

Sincerely,

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi,

Academy City Board of Directors"

"What the fuck is this?!" Touma suddenly roared. Misaki started instinctually, but only tightened her embrace, as she softly kissed her husband's form. She wanted nothing more than to kiss the anger away. "They think they can just… do this? This is a fucking human rights violation! We do everything they fucking ask of us, Misaki! We're law-abiding citizens, we pay our bills, our taxes, everything! This is…"

Kamijou Touma quickly took control of the rage that was beginning to cause his blood to boil. He handed Kamijou Misaki's phone back to her. Misaki looked up to her suddenly quiet husband, and, quickly dropping her phone over her side of their bed, she cuddled up to him, and, pulling herself up to his level of vision, she clambered into his lap. Facing her husband, Misaki's long, blonde hair trailed behind her.

Touma raised his hands, and cupped Misaki's cheeks in them; Misaki shivered at her husband's soft, gentle touch. "Baby? Are you okay? I love you. What do you think? About… this?"

Touma gently pulled Misaki towards him; receiving the message almost immediately, Misaki wrapped her arms around her husband's shoulders, and placed her forehead against his. As their noses connected, Touma closed his eyes. From the edges of their bedroom's window that their curtain's width couldn't cover, dull, light brown sunlight was struggling to break in and enter, and, though it couldn't quite squeeze itself all the way in, a small, singular line of dirty sunlight was cast over the married couple's combined form.

Kamijou Touma took hold of his anger, and, rather than allowing himself to yell any more than he already had, he began to try and push it out through his tear ducts; a safe release. Touma felt a lump form in his throat, as his chin began to tighten. It buckled, as Touma took a long, deep breath. His wife's embrace only tightened, as his arms pulled her as close as possible. Some dark threshold had just been crossed; Touma could feel the wrongness in his soul, that some unknown terror was lurking just around the corner, waiting to pounce.

"I don't know why Seria's doing this to us, but… I know Seria, beautiful. She wouldn't do something like this without a reason. Something's happening, something big. This is the first time we – I mean, the level fives, have been assembled since… since back then. Since everything went to Hell." The last words of his statement were weak, quiet, and, as he spoke them, Touma felt the boiling anger coming closer, and closer to being expelled. It was nearly there; he could almost feel his eyes becoming heavier.

"Baby, it is okay to cry. You are a man beyond all men. I feel your jaw shuddering. Cry, my love, and I will cry with you. Be silent, and I will be silent with you."

The gentle giant, the monstrously tall, seven foot five Kamijou Touma released a small, pathetic-sounding whimper; internally, he likened the sound to that of a dog that had just been violently kicked. His brow furrowed, and his lips curled into a frown, as he began to kiss his wife's cheek. Lovingly, with absolute adoration for him in her mind, and in her actions, Kamijou Misaki's arms left her husband's shoulders, and were swiftly returned to his waist.

"I'm sorry for yelling… I didn't mean t-to. M-Misaki… I l-love you… God, I'm so… p-pathetic."'

"I love you too. No, baby, no… you are absolutely not. It is okay to vent, more than okay, it is natural, and healthy to vent. It is normal to become angry at a situation. Release your feelings, and I will listen. I will a-always listen, as you always l-listen!" Misaki whispered, as Touma moved his lips from his wife's cheek, and to her neck.

"Beautiful," a sob escaped from Touma's lips, as they were forced from Misaki's neck by the pained sound. His lips quickly returned, and, between his passionate kisses, and the tears that continued to stream down his face, Kamijou Touma continued, "I'm so fed up. So fucking angry. Not with you, never with you Misaki, God, no, God never with you… I love you… at Academy City, at this whole fucking world… no, not the world. The world's a good place. I've said it a million times, and, fuck, I'll say it again. I just want to live with you, and love you, and not have to worry about… fucking everything! I swear to the God that's supposedly watching over us, if one more fucking woman tries to… tries to… I'll kill them. Misaki, I just… I just want you; I just want… my wife."

Touma sank forwards, as his body was wracked by pained sobs; Misaki knew her husband well enough that, through them, he was channelling his anger. She could hear it. Kamijou Misaki could hear the rage that was being pushed from his body, and pushed from his mind. Tears began to run down her own cheeks, as Misaki held her husband's shuddering, panting form.

Even in the throes of such pain, Kamijou Touma was still so gentle with Kamijou Misaki. His hands instinctually rose up onto her shoulder blades, as if those protrusions were the safest to cling to.

"I didn't… mean that; I don't want to hurt anyone," Touma whispered. The weakness in his tone of voice made Misaki just want to kiss him; and so she did. Placing a hand beneath his chin, Misaki raised his head up, so that his face met hers. Their lips met; Misaki's nose pressed against the side of her husband's face, as his pressed against hers. Touma moaned between his quieting sobs, as Misaki gently lowered her husband towards their bed. Resting his form against their tossed back comforter, and the sheets beneath it, Kamijou Misaki quickly found her way atop him, and, taking his hands in hers for a moment, her lips reconnected with his. Touma's hands broke away, and his arms, again, were wrapped around his lover, as he welcomed her.

Parting momentarily, to catch her breath, Misaki rested her lips against her husband's ear. "I know you did not mean it; they were words of anger, directed at hypothetical individuals who are not present. You are gentle, you are kind, and you are fair, Kamijou Touma. I love you too, so much. I am as frustrated as you are, but, I must concede that you are right about Kumokawa-san. She is not one to act as a tyrant."

Touma's bloodshot eyes looked up at his wife's starry, glowing eyes, and, even as tears continued to drip from both of their eyes, Touma couldn't help but smile. He simply observed his lover's face; the shape of it, the way her adorable, gently pinchable cheeks rose up as she smiled back, warmly, full of love, her sweet, soft lips, her golden eyebrows, and the elegant golden bangs that hung haphazardly in her face.

"I'm… I'm going to… Kamijou Misaki,"

Touma kept his right arm around his wife, and removed his left. Touma raised it, and held it away from his face. On his left hand's ring finger, a small, but bright, golden band sat. As if they were capable of telepathically sharing their thoughts, Misaki proceeded to place her right hand against Touma's left; their palms met. On Misaki's right hand's ring finger, an identical ring was carefully, and lovingly placed.

"I'm going to protect that smile of yours, my beautiful, amazing wife. I'm going to protect your smile, and all of the hopes, and dreams that come with it. Our hopes. Our dreams… our life. I'm going to protect our marriage."

"As I will protect yours, my handsome, perfect, flawless husband. I will protect our life, and our marriage."

For some time, the married couple remained like that, on their bed, staring up, and down at each other, respectively, as the world beyond their paradise passed them by. Their ritual of cleansing, having come to a close, left them both feeling relieved. Tears still dripped from their eyes, but that changed nothing.

Touma quietly cleared his throat, and, as he blinked the remainders of the recent bout of tears from his eyes, his brow furrowed. Misaki knew the expression well; it was that characteristic determination. She'd seen it over ten years ago, when he had saved her life, and she'd seen it since. To see it again was bittersweet for the wife of Kamijou Touma.

"If this is the way things are going for us… if this is what we have to do, in order to protect each other, and this life we've built,"

Touma took his wife's hand in his own hands, pressed the top of it to his lips, and passionately kissed it. His eyes closed, as he kissed it, again and again. Misaki lovingly looked on at the display of adoration, as chills ran down her spine. Misaki's own eyes closed, as she welcomed the affection, welcomed her husband's act of treasuring her.

Removing Kamijou Misaki's hand from his lips, Kamijou Touma held it tightly, and placed it to his chest. Beneath the palm of her hand, Misaki felt her everything's quickly-beating heart.

"Then let it be done, Kamijou Misaki."

"Then let it be done, Kamijou Touma."

Still, the two found it difficult to arise.

"Misaki… I'm going to need to get up. We need to face this thing together, whatever it is, or might be, and, I want to be there, if you'll have me there, for this… assembly, or whatever it is. Going to have to call in, and, I guess… let the foreman know that things are changing, by the sounds of it; won't be able to work overtime after all. Maybe I should wait to find out what's happening, first? I don't really know, but I know I'm not going to be able to in today," Touma rambled.

"I would want nothing more, but, baby… I know how much your job means to you, how much supporting us means to you. I do not want to see you deprive yourself of that feeling of accomplishment," Misaki replied. Kamijou Misaki reluctantly removed herself from Kamijou Touma's form, and stepped down from their messed bed. Touma followed, and, pressing his body against his wife's naked form, he kissed the top of her head.

"It's nothing, if it's keeping me from standing at your side. Like I said… let's find out what's even going on, first, not jump to conclusions, right? We're all capable, after all. It could be anything, so we won't really know until we get down to business, whatever "business" might be," Kamijou Touma commented. He reluctantly pulled away from his wife's form, and haphazardly got himself dressed, as Kamijou Misaki did the same.

"You are… something unique, Kamijou Touma. Just how was I so fortunate to meet you, all those years ago, I do not think I will ever truly know."

"I constantly ask myself the same question about you, beautiful. Despite everything, despite Academy City… such fortune."

As Touma slipped himself into the outfit he'd chosen from his side of he and his wife's wardrobe, Misaki had trekked over to the large, wooden wall unit that sat a few feet away from she and her husband's bed. Upon its multiple shelves were many items that were important to the Kamijous. On one shelf, the wedding gown, and the bridal veil that Misaki had worn on the greatest day of her life, along with the high heel shoes she'd worn sat, next to Touma's tuxedo, and his tie, both of which neatly stacked atop one another.

On another shelf, there were small baubles that the married couple had collected over the years, such as a handful of dice, used in their first game of Traps and Trolls, a plastic ring that Kamijou Touma had won for Kamijou Misaki from a vending machine when they'd been on their first date, and, likely the most important of all, a long, thin silver whistle. The whistle was attached lovingly to a bright, pristine silver chain, which snaked around, and beneath the little thing.

Picking it up in her hands, Misaki looked down at it. Only below her wedding ring, and her wedding gown and bridal veil, this bauble sat in terms of personal importance. Carefully, Kamijou Misaki slipped the whistle's chain over her head, and placed it around her neck. Loosely, the whistle hung below her collarbone. As it sat around her neck, the whistle, and the chain it was attached to felt like something of a power object to Kamijou Misaki. She felt like, with this tiny bauble, she was empowered, and without rival in her strength, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Touma, Baby… this whistle… an indirect kiss. Even then, not long after you g-gave this to me, my love, the love of my life, keeper of my heart, we were fighting this darkness; but we were fighting together. That's what counts."

Kamijou Touma looked to his wife, and smiled warmly.

"You know what to do, if you ever need me, beautiful wife of mine. I'd run from the other side of the world to answer your call. That much hasn't changed. I'll shatter a thousand illusions with this right hand, and a thousand more after that."

Some minutes passed, before the married couple emerged from their paradise; they both avoided even acknowledging the closed-off room across from their own, that darkened, uncleaned, empty, likely spider-infested Hell, as they stepped out, hand in hand. Kamijou Touma had garbed himself in a tight-fitting, tropic blue, short sleeved shirt, and a pair of dark-colored khakis. His hair was flattened, his bangs pushed off to the side. Kamijou Misaki was adorned in a golden varsity jacket, whose sleeves were white. From top to bottom, eight small, white buttons were snapped into place. On the back of the jacket, and on its right breast, a large number five was stitched. Below her waist, Misaki wore tight-fitting, golden leggings. Her blonde hair fell freely down her back, and her bangs were placed carefully behind her right ear.

"It's still pretty early, beautiful; we still have, probably around six hours or so, before we have to leave? At this rate, we could've just gone back to bed, but… I dunno, probably wouldn't be able to sleep, personally," Touma rambled, as he accompanied his wife into the kitchen.

"Nor would I; too much to think about, my prince. Far too much." Kamijou Misaki stood up on her toes, and placed a kiss to the cheek of her husband, as she gave him her best smile. "You made our morning beverages, yesterday; this morning, it is my turn. Will it be coffee, baby?"

"You're literally perfect," Touma remarked. Standing behind his wife, he began to gently massage her shoulders, as she craned her neck, and closed her eyes in pleasure. "Coffee, please? When, or if you're ready, just let me know, and I'll throw something together quickly. For now, going to give the foreman a call, take a sick day, or something, wash my hair, maybe? Feels dirty. You need the bathroom?"

Misaki placed her hands on her husband's own hands, and sighed. "Thank you; I will, should I start to feel hungry, everything. Go ahead; I will be fine, for a while. I will probably wash my own, when you are finished."

With a quick kiss, Touma reluctantly left his wife's side, as Misaki began to work her magic. Despite the circumstances of this morning, Misaki would do her best to keep things feeling as stable and as 'normal' as possible. Misaki quickly obtained the required ingredients, as well as bits of hardware from around their kitchen; the large, translucent jar containing Touma's favorite black coffee from one cupboard, along with the glass container that held their supply of sugar, and, a measuring cup. From a nearby drawer that Misaki gently pulled open, she grabbed a silver spoon for mixing.

Plugging the kettle in, pouring water into it, and then putting it on, she dutifully watched over the steaming, bubbling device for some time, until she knew it was time to turn the device off. Pouring the required amount of coffee grounds into a measuring cup, Misaki then, concentrating to the full extent that she able to, given her mind's desire to wander, poured the boiled, steaming water over the coffee grounds.

Then, came the process that would likely be the most difficult five minutes of her morning; she'd have to let the cup steep. Without anything to occupy her mind, Misaki leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms beneath her bosom, and sighed, as she tried to fight back her mind's incessant desire to wander. She could already feel herself beginning to fail.

"I suppose I could get my phone. That would make more sense than standing here, attempting to stave myself off."

Kamijou Touma ran his towel over his dripping wet hair; closing his eyes as water droplets threatened to invade them, he, quite viciously, dried his hair out. Removing the towel, and placing it on the toilet seat, Touma peered into the mirror. Grabbing at his comb and running it through his shining, fluffy-looking hair, he realized just how long it actually was when it wasn't spiked.

It wasn't anywhere near as long as Hamazura Shiage's, though, when not spiked, it was still, at least, medium length. Combing his bangs to one side, he nodded at his topless form in the mirror. Touma looked at his large, muscular arms for a moment, sparing them a glance, as he grinned awkwardly. "I've worked my ass off to get these. I guess it's okay to feel just a little bit vain; that's not what it's about, though. It's not about looking tough. It's about being strong. To protect Misaki, and everyone else I love. That's what it's about. Don't forget that, Kamijou, you jackass."

It was then that he realized the error of his ways; he'd combed his hair, and he was still topless. With a groan, he just barely stopping himself from muttering his famed catchphrase, as he slipped his shirt over his head, which effectively ruined the work he'd put into his hair. He re-combed it, quickly, with more than one grunt of frustration, before he left the bathroom. Breathing deeply, in order to beat back the annoyance that was building inside of him, Touma entered he and his wife's bedroom.

"Imagine seeing you here, eh?" Touma inquired; Misaki was just on her way out. Offering him a smile, she hugged her husband tightly, and he returned the act of affection to his wife. Placing his left hand gently against the back of her head, and her right just above her tailbone, Touma placed a kiss to his wife's forehead.

"It is almost as if you are following me, stranger… I welcome it," Misaki said softly, as she nuzzled her husband's chest. "I do not want to let go, baby."

"You don't have to; we've got plenty of time," Touma responded, with a warm, mirthful smile.

"Well, your coffee is steeping. I will have to return at some point, as much as I…"

Kamijou Misaki was suddenly whisked off her feet. Completely trusting and secure in her husband's arms, she only waited, as she found herself being carried bridal style. "I'll get you back there. Need anything else, before we go?"

"I came to get my phone, a task I succeeded in, my prince; that was all. Oh my… I love being carried by you," Misaki confessed, as she rubbed her right cheek against her husband's left, lovingly kissing it between movements.

"Heh, I was actually going for the same thing; well, not your phone. My phone. Don't really have a reason to go rooting around in your stuff. I guess I'm curious as to what you get your rocks off to, when I'm not around, but not curious enough to spy on you," Touma jokingly teased.

Misaki managed to produce a weak, but genuine smile. "You know you can look at my phone, any time you want. I do not mind."

"He's trying so hard to lift my spirits. I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you. I never want to be without you, my prince. My hero."

Touma, with his beloved in his arms, began to make the trek back to the kitchen. "Back to your rightful place, woman!" He jokingly spoke, before he kissed his wife on the lips. "Kidding."

"I know," Misaki replied. "I know… ah, I know. Perfection."

Gently, and carefully placing Kamijou Misaki down on her feet after a short walk, Kamijou Touma ran his right hand's fingers over her own, and smiled, before he produced his phone, and walked into the living room. As Misaki moved to begin to prepare her morning tea, Touma dialled the foreman's number into his phone's virtual keypad, and initiated a call.

The device produced its signature ringing tone, a series of three or four sharp, buzzing noises from its external speaker, delivered directly into the ear of the cringing Kamijou Touma. It was far too loud for its own good.

Touma's phone rang four, then five times, before the receiver of the call answered. Touma didn't immediately hear the voice of the foreman; instead, he heard what sounded like shuffling, clicking, and, then, finally Touma heard the foreman's voice come on the line.

"K-Kamijou! How're you doing? You're up bright and early!" The foreman's voice called out awkwardly. "S-sorry! Caught me in a bit of a… tight spot. Remind me, never eat from Jackson's Taco Box. Good food, but, boy, when it's comin' out the other end…"

"S-sir…?" Touma grumbled; he didn't really know how to respond to that. "Uh. Just wanted to let you know as close to ahead of time as possible, that I'm not going to be able to make it in today. B-bad, bad stomach flu, woke up with it," Touma lied. He felt like something had stabbed him in the gut. The foreman was such a nice older fellow; Touma felt like, somehow, he was committing some terrible act of betrayal. "Your wife needs you more than your job does, Touma, and you need to be there for her. Not turning into one of "those" guys. Never. Never hurt Misaki. Just love. Love Misaki."

"Damn shame. Heard there's a nasty bug going around; thanks for calling, Kamijou. Hope you're feelin' better as soon as possible. No need to fret, got plenty of guys; none quite do the job as well as you, but hey, backup is backup! I kid! You're all great. Say "hi" to the wife for me, huh?" The foreman chuckled; he sounded genuine enough. Touma didn't quite know if he'd been convincing enough, in his delivery.

"Will do, sir. Thanks for understanding. Take care," Touma spoke; as the foreman offered his farewells, Touma ended the call, and placed the device back into his pocket.

"Your coffee is ready, baby," Misaki said, as she turned the corner into their living room. "I will need to keep an eye on my tea. Before I go to wash my hair, might we talk about some things? There are things, about… everything around us, that I feel the need to speak about."

"Of course; no need to ask, beautiful. I'm always ready to listen," Touma responded, as he gently took the beverage from his wife's hands. "Thank you so much. If everything's… you know, still normal tomorrow… I've got your back."

Misaki sighed, and kissed her husband.

"We could talk in the kitchen, or start our talk there, if you want. How does that sound?" Touma suggested, wrapping the fingers of his left hand around the coffee mug's handle. Looking down at his right, he chuckled. "Never trusted the stupid thing."

Misaki offered a nod of her head in response. "The only problem I see here, is, neither of us can really, for certain have the answers. That is all this City has been, for so long. Answerless questions," Kamijou Misaki spoke, as she and her husband entered the kitchen. Pulling out two of their table's chairs, and sitting side by side, Misaki rested her head against her husband's shoulder. Touma carefully lowered his mug down onto the surface of the table; a quiet clacking sound was produced. He took his wife's left hand in both his left and right, and gently massaged it.

"So much has happened, not only to us, but to everyone we know; and yet, we have so few answers, Touma. That monster he… Aleister Crowley possessed, that strange ghost. Those unstoppable creatures in your right hand, that machine that we met with… that is all only the tip of the iceberg," Misaki rambled. Touma's massaging hands greatly helped the young woman to keep her cool, but she could feel some ugly, horrific mix between anxiousness and frustration building up inside of her.

Touma shook his head. "I wish I knew more, too, about everything, especially about those "things" in my hand. I want them out, so badly. Maybe, if they were gone, if Imagine Breaker, if that's what they make up, or are linked to, was… gone, these things would stop happening to us."

"Baby," Misaki spoke quickly. "Please do not blame yourself. I am certain that your hand has little to no correlation with what is currently happening. I suppose we should try to shoot for a less broad topic…" Misaki quietly cleared her throat, as she began anew.

"Kumokawa-san… what is this game that she is trying to play? The Board of Directors does not act without her explicit commands. I know she would not be one to make a move such as this without good reason, but, what could that reason be? It is the unknowing, the doubt that is eating away at me, husband."

Touma nodded weakly in agreement. "I feel. It's the whole, "what if" syndrome, right? "It could be anything". Even if you know you can handle just about anything, there's that one percent of things that you think you can't, and you're afraid that… that whatever's going to happen is going to fall into that one percent."

"As always, you understand me," Kamijou Misaki said softly. "I wish we were beyond this City's walls, able to ignore the goings on; but wishing will not get us anywhere, will it…? Or will it, truly? Wishes have come true before. I wished for you, Kamijou Touma, to return my love so many years ago, and… here you are. My husband of half a decade, and my partner of a decade… it is so hard to believe; not only that time has passed us by so quickly, but, that, despite everything that we have been through, that we yet… live, as hard as that is for me to say."

Her husband kissed the top of her head, and then her forehead, as he took Misaki's opposite hand, and continued where he left off, softly massaging. "Let's not dwell on that, okay? Beautiful, I… nah, maybe we should. Why hide from the idea? It's going to happen somehow, someday.

"It's just… God, Misaki, it trips me out. Makes my stomach churn; but, maybe, if magic is something that exists, if… "he" came so close to creating some sort of artificial Heaven on Earth, there might be a real one, you know? A real one, where we could, live, and love, together. Away from all of this, away from Academy City… but I don't want to put everything on a possibility."

"I would love that more than anything in this wide, wide world, Kamijou Touma; but I will not put all of my faith into a "possibility", either. I would rather fight, if I absolutely must, to be able to find that possibility right here."

Rising up, Misaki ruffled her husband's hair, before she moved to the counter, unplugged the kettle from the wall, and poured herself a cup of tea. Sitting back down, she offered Touma her hand, and smiled thinly as she crossed one leg over the other. Touma happily took his wife's hand back into his own hands. Resuming his massaging, Misaki closed her eyes, as she sighed.

"Me too, beautiful. I really don't want to; I thought I was done with that life. I thought I was going to be able to be a proper husband, and, maybe, someday, if we could somehow defy the expectations, and, if everything was to fall into place just right, so that a certain outcome could be achieved… a father. That's why I want this hand gone, Misaki; not so I could force that ideal on you, God no, never… but so the possibility could exist."

Misaki could feel her throat tightening. "A p-proper husband? Kamijou Touma, you are beyond what would constitute a "proper husband"; you are… I can barely form words to describe how wonderful you are; how wonderful it is to share my life with you, to live with you, and love you. You are a blessing, a perfect man, a perfect husband, so sweet, so caring, so tender… so attentive. So patient, such infinite patience.

"You are calm, collected, and so gentle in your interactions with me – Kamijou Touma, you are a miracle; I think you would make a wonderful father. Should, as you suggested, the expectations be defied, should all things somehow fall into place, I think it is something we would have to… talk about, husband. Creating life is no small matter, but, to be a mother, the mother of our child, there is something oddly idyllic about such a thought, even if it would be anything but, given the nature of most little ones. I want that possibility, too, everything."

Touma nodded quickly, despite himself. "Of course, beautiful. Just having this life with you, this beautiful, ideal marriage, is beyond anything I ever could've dreamed of, anything I ever did dream of. I… I say it so much; I probably sound like a frozen computer or something, repeating the same thing over and over. I love you, Misaki."

"I love you too, Touma. Please, never stop telling me. I love hearing you tell me, and I love telling you. I do not want to stop."

With her head against his shoulder, as he continued to gently massage her hand, Kamijou Misaki, the loving wife of Kamijou Touma, swore that she would see her husband's life, and her marriage protected. As the sun was struggling to rise outside of their apartment, their paradise, Kamijou Misaki's will was hardened by her determination, her absolute, unbreakable desire to reach the light at the end of the tunnel; a tunnel she and her beloved had been walking through for oh so long.

With his wife's head against his shoulder, and her hand in his, Kamijou Touma knew that there was an irony, in this situation. This right hand of his, a hand that, for the moment, protected, and comforted, and adored, and treasured, could be used to maim, and kill, and destroy anything who threatened his love, his starry-eyed Queen, the other half of his soul, the woman who owned his heart, and shared his surname. Kamijou Touma would guard his marriage to Kamijou Misaki with his life.

The married couple simply existed, basking in one another's presence, for a while. The sunlight began to flood their paradise, and bathe their kitchen, and the living room beyond in its golden rays.

Staring ahead at nothing in particular, Kamijou Touma heard his wife begin to hum a quiet tune, as the side of her face gently nuzzled his shoulder. It was a soft, relaxing sound, one that made butterflies flutter in his stomach, and made his quickly-beating heart begin to slow back to its regular pace. As she began to softly sing the words, Touma felt his arms unconsciously wrap around Misaki's form, as he continued to stare ahead.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy, when skies are grey.

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,"

Before uttering the words that would conclude her short song, Misaki raised her head, and, her eyes looked in the same direction as Touma's.

"Please, don't take my sunshine away."

Misaka Mikoto was livid. If it was possible for her to be any angrier, she couldn't imagine what such a feeling could've possibly been like. Her phone was unlocked, tossed, screen facing upwards on Shirai Kuroko's computer desk, e-mail app still open, the message sent to her, one very similar to the message that had been sent to the inbox of Kamijou Misaki, on display for the ceiling to see.

Electricity jumped from Mikoto's form, barely restrained. If she let go, if she relented for even a second, she could've likely caused a blackout beyond even the walls of Academy City. Shirai Kuroko, her source of comfort, one of few people who could bring Mikoto back from the edge was still on duty, and would be for some time. Kazari still slept, somehow.

"Relax, Mikoto… relax. Getting mad isn't going to change this, no matter how fucked this is. I'll get my answers, when I…"

A thought had crossed Mikoto's mind, yet again. It had done so previously, on this aggravating morning, but she'd been too frustrated to make good on realizing it. Surely, the other level fives might have some idea of what was going on? Maybe Misaki, or Accelerator had some idea, or were informed better than she was?

Though she was slightly offended by the idea, Mikoto took a deep breath, in order to prevent more electricity from jumping out from her form, she quickly scrambled to her phone, and, pressing the home button, the electromaster's finger navigated to the contacts app on her phone. Tapping on the "Accel" contact, she initiated a call, and, pressing the device to her ear, Mikoto stuffed her available hand into one of the pockets of her baggy Gekota pajamas.

Mikoto's phone attempted to connect the call, once, then twice. Three, then four, then five, six, seven… and, after eight rings, the call was connected.

"Hi, Onee-Sama, MISAKA MISAKA says, greeting Onee-Sama as warmly as possible while also keeping her voice quiet, so that Accelerator isn't woken up!" Mikoto heard the voice of her youngest sister whisper, enthusiastically.

"Hi, Last Order!" Mikoto said, with faux-happiness, attempting to bury the frustration evident in her voice. Mikoto would never allow "them" to be dragged into Academy City's grim business, ever again. She would destroy Academy City herself before she allowed that. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, could you get Accelerator on the phone? I need to ask him something."

"Okay, Onee-Sama, MISAKA MISAKA exclaims, increasing the volume of her voice in order to awaken Accelerator!" Last Order happily proclaimed, as she ceased her whispering. The shocked grumbles of Accelerator could be heard, as could the chastising of Misaka Worst. The phone clicked, and small gusts of air could be heard passing by the receiver on the other end.

Before long, Accelerator grunted on the other end. "Third ranked… do you have any fucking idea how early it is? Fucking… seven-thirty? Goddamn it all. What the fuck do you want? Brat, get the fuck off me! You too, goddamn bigger brat!"

Mikoto couldn't help but smirk at the sounds of Last Order demanding for Accelerator to show her his "love".

"I know. Check your phone. I got a… a really messed up e-mail from the City. Can you tell me what yours says?" Misaka Mikoto asked. Accelerator grunted in response, and, the phone's external microphone could be heard shifting; everything on Accelerator's end got a lot louder, suddenly, as the call was obviously enough to Mikoto, put on speaker.

"Hey there, Onee-Sama! Misaka saw the Savior the other day; not the big, manly one… the other Savior! She told Misaka all about her sexual exploits with the Savior, and her grand exploration of his big COCK!" Worst proclaimed, as Mikoto could only shake her head in disapproval.

"You're going to have to try harder than that to get me, Worst. We… we understand each other, now."

"Piss off, brat," Accelerator grumbled. "Leave the fucking third ranked alone."

Then, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"What the fuck? Is this some kind of goddamn joke? Do they think they can just fucking order us around, like we're their fucking minions? I'll fucking kill them all myself," Accelerator grumbled in response.

Mikoto hoped that Accelerator didn't mean it. "Does that mean you're going to refuse them?"

Accelerator's answer was obvious enough.

"No. How the fuck can I? I don't need their fucking money, or their fucking facilities; but the brats do. Besides, I'm personally invested in the goddamn shit going on. Some wand-swinging fucking magic fairy came close to hurting these goddamn ass-pains. Too close. When I find out who's responsible, third ranked, I will fucking kill them. Don't give a shit about who they are."

Mikoto's jaw dropped. "Did you say…?"

Accelerator grunted in response, before he offered a brief explanation. "Yeah. It's fucking magic. Long story, third ranked, but the vectors were there. We think they did the underground mall, at least. They're in the mountains now; fucking put them there myself."

"We?" The Railgun inquired; she found herself to be terribly, terribly out of the loop. She wasn't particularly fond of this feeling; being so far away from everyone else.

"That prick Tsuchimikado got himself into a tight spot. Could've called fucking Move Point, or the ghost, but, no, he calls me. Goddamn idiot."

Mikoto paced, as she cocked her head to one side, holding her phone between her right cheek and the right side of her neck. "So, you're going then, I take it?"

"What choice do I have? I go, or the fucking brats starve. I can't work a fucking job like this. If they get sick… no. They're aware of this, third ranked, they know what they're fucking doing. They know we're all in complicated situations. The fifth ranked is married, to that idiot hero, I've got these goddamn brats. Meltdowner is probably dead, but, they haven't promoted the fifth ranked yet, so I guess their best guess is as good as ours," Accelerator commented, completing his short rant with a grunt of frustration.

Misaka Mikoto sighed to herself. "This is really, really ironic. Academy City's finished, barely clinging to life, and here I am, for the first time in… who knows long, actually agreeing with… him… on something. The sky must be falling. What do I even do? I could work a bunch of jobs, like Accelerator said… heh. There it is again… I don't need their money; but, if I take sick, how will I recover? I guess I wouldn't. Probably wouldn't even be able to get over-the-counter medication… don't want to take that risk. I guess Kuroko could get it for me, but if… no. I won't endanger her. If they found out… I really don't have a choice, do I?"

Clearing her throat, the Railgun spoke; Accelerator had yet to make a snide remark, or any remark at all, so, she assumed she was free to make her move. "I… I agree. They wouldn't be threatening us, if they didn't need us for something. Is that all we are to Academy City? I guess asking is kind of stupid. It's all we've ever been, Accelerator. New master, same slaves. Puppets, tangled in strings."

Academy City's "top dog" clicked his tongue, as Mikoto heard the sounds of Last Order and Misaka Worst play fighting in the background. "I'm no fucking puppet. You going? Doesn't really matter. I can handle whatever these incompetent slugs throw my way, but… having some company wouldn't be bad, even if it's yours, third ranked."

"Worst's right, you know; you really are a tsundere. I guess… I don't really have a choice, either. I'll see you there."

"Do you want to die, third ranked?"

"I know you don't mean that. Bye, Accelerator."

"Yeah. S-sorry. Bye."

With a tap of her finger, the call had been disconnected. Grumbling under her breath, while she rubbed her tired, heavy eyes, Mikoto turned around; a black and baby blue blur had moved just past her vision. One second, it had been there; the next minute, no longer. With a yawn, Mikoto took to investigating.

"Officer Shirai's" kitchen is a joke. For a level four, whose stipends are quite impressive, not to mention the wage she receives for allowing herself to be bullied by the Network, I expected something a bit more… grandeur," the voice of Uiharu Kazari spoke. Entering Kuroko's apartment's small kitchen, there Kazari stood.

Mikoto burst into laughter, despite herself, at the sight before her.

Kazari was garbed in an extremely small, baby blue pajama top – Kazari's size and body shape wasn't that drastic of a difference from the size and body shape of Kuroko, so, this obviously wasn't the result of some wardrobe malfunction – it just barely covered Kazari's rather plump bosom. Her naval and most of her torso exposed, Kazari had only matching booty shorts to match.

"What's so entertaining, "Ace"? This is your fault. If the intrepid officer of ours wasn't such a deviant, likely a result of years of rejection, I wouldn't have found myself in this predicament," Kazari grumbled, before a weak chuckle escaped her lips, to Mikoto's shock.

"Yes, Misaka-san , I can laugh. I can perform the most basic of human functions; proud? I often don't have much of a reason to do so, but I'm capable of laughter. Yahoo. Haha."

"Yahoo"? "Haha"? Are you a video game character, now? That aside, how are, you know, how are you feeling? You're looking better," Mikoto shook her head. Opening the small refrigerator door, Mikoto grabbed a bottle of water. Cool to the touch, she popped the cap off, pressed the lidless bottle's tip to her lips, and, tossing her head back, took a long drink.

Kazari watched on, an eyebrow raised, as Mikoto quickly drained the plastic bottle of its contents, slowly but surely. The bottle crinkled, until the Railgun pulled it from her lips. "Well, all things considered, I'm not waking up at a desk, face against a dusty old keyboard, and I'm not in a hospital. I guess… I guess things are alright, under these circumstances, at least…"

"Ah. Better. Listen, I don't even know if I'm allowed to tell you this, let alone show you the message…" Mikoto tried to begin, but she was quickly interrupted.

"What are they going to do? Send the Network? You can fuck their officers, probably just with the passive Electro Barrier you produce. I'd worry more about human assassins.

"Still, if we're making a move, whatever that move might be, we'll be breaking the "law" – I use the term extremely loosely, looser than Saten's vaginal cavity after a night on the town – anyway. So, lay it on me, Misaka-san. What have the almighty idiots of Academy City tried to plug you with, now? Oh, the life of a level five…"

Misaka Mikoto could probably think of a million reasons as to why she shouldn't tell Kazari, but, in the moment, she was too frustrated to care. Kazari had a point – she could reduce the OFFICER Network to a pile of shuddering metal bodies with a flick of her wrist, or even with a simple calculation; still, Mikoto's response had changed, as soon as "her" name was mentioned. That girl who had once been as close to Misaka Mikoto as a sister from a different birthmother.

"Kazari, let's talk about Saten… about Ruiko. Let's talk about what happened, before I go anywhere. There are some things about Ruiko that you need to know about, now that you're not… missing."

Kazari chuckled, without a trace of humor. Dull and weak, it was a painful sound for Mikoto to hear; she retrieved a loaf of bread from the nearby baker's rack, and, placing two pieces into the toaster atop the kitchen's marble counter's surface, she turned back to face Mikoto, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Actually hungry, for a change. Missing, huh? Is that what you were told? My family, too, I assume? A missing persons report, all for little old me. I'd be flattered, if Academy City didn't make me want to vomit into a paper bag," Kazari spoke. "Fine, "Ace". Let's talk about…"

Kazari's face became suddenly, horribly all too readable. The Thermal Hand user's brow had furrowed, her lips had curled into a frown, and, without warning, she tossed herself into the dangling arms of the Railgun; Mikoto stumbled, but didn't fall. Her subconscious did what her higher mind was seemingly incapable of doing, as, for what felt like the thousandth time as of recent, shock overtook it. Mikoto stood strong, and, slowly, her arms were placed reluctantly around Kazari.

"I'm sorry, Misaka-sa… Mikoto. Fuck. Fucking… Fuck. I'm s-so… so… sorry for everything I've done; I'm sorry for h-hurting you. I'm s-sorry for… putting K-Kuroko in… danger. I'm sorry for… speaking so lowly about… Ruiko. Everything's gone so wrong, Mikoto, everything's gone completely… wrong. So, so wrong. It hurts, so bad. Everything just… hurts.

I'm sorry for… for creating that thing, D-001. Not only to you, b-because of what's happening now, but, to it, too… it's sentient, it's self-aware, it knows pain, and it knows loss, because I made it so, because I… because I made a stupid, stupid, STUPID! Decision. I… I'm paying for my crimes, but everyone else is paying, too… it won't go away; I can't undo what I've done; I can only accept this."

"My… son? It called me… mother. This is all so fucked."

Kazari didn't shed a single tear, as she awkwardly held Mikoto. The electromaster was speechless.

"Yes, Misak… Mikoto. Let's talk about Ruiko. I want to know everything about what's happened. Maybe… maybe it was me. Maybe I was the one who turned my back. Maybe I've always known that, maybe I've been too weak to accept my own mistakes."

Mikoto sighed. "Where is all this coming from, Kazari? By the way… your toast popped up."

"God, I'm a fucking wreck, I feel like I'm going to vomit, I want to die… no, I won't die, I won't give Academy City the satisfaction of breaking me, Mikoto," Kazari grumbled, as she slowly, and quite awkwardly pulled away from Mikoto. Turning away, Kazari pulled the bread from the toaster; both pieces, front and back, were crispy, golden brown. The smell was intoxicating. "Proper food. Fuck me, Misaka-san… Mikoto."

"You can call me Misaka-san, it doesn't matter," Mikoto replied. "I'm glad to see that you seem to be feeling a bit better, everything considered. I already asked, but, where did all of this come from? I don't mind, like I said, I'm glad; this is just really sudden."

Kazari nodded slowly, in agreement. "Yeah. I know it is. I… I didn't fall right to sleep, last night. Had some time to think, about a lot of things. About the machine, about Academy City, about being able to lay down in an actual house, with two people who I was… close to, a long time ago. Mind got the better of me. I still feel like absolute shit. I still feel like I could jump off a cliff and regret nothing, but, everything feels strangely lighter. I feel like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders, somehow… it hurts, but, for the first time in so, so goddamn long, I feel… different."

"Because you're actually talking to people, Kazari! You're interacting with people, people who… who love you. People who care about you. You don't have to deal with everything by yourself. You can rely on other people to help you," Mikoto quickly rambled; though the words fell from her mouth unceremoniously, and, once she was done with her speech, Mikoto took a long, deep breath to restore the supply of air in her lungs. "But… we were going to talk about, Ruiko. I never really got the chance to tell you about everything that happened, everything Kuroko and I experienced. After you left… or, disappeared, something was wrong with Ruiko."

Kazari took a small bite of her toast, and awkwardly swallowed. She raised an eyebrow, as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "No. I should start. I'm the one who made this all happen; before you tell me, I need to… I need to tell you.

"I've already told Shirai, but, we were in the midst of a dark situation, another situation I stupidly created; I could only barely skim over the facts. It feels like it was so long ago, and, I suppose it was. I was sixteen, and, so was she; so was Ruiko. I was sixteen fucking years old… I still find it hard to believe.

"Through Saten-san, Ruiko, who… I'm sure didn't know any better, I met the individuals who make up what you and I know as "Kiharas". Ruiko had come to me with an advertisement that she'd found, probably on another one of her urban legend-hunting excursions… God, I miss her. I miss her so much. Sick of hiding behind my anger, using it like a shield. I miss Saten Ruiko. I miss her… I miss, us.

"One of these "Kiharas" was hiring; he needed people with advanced computer literacy skills, someone who knew what they were doing, to slap together an artificial intelligence. It didn't start out the way that you think it did; the project myself, the naïve, easily-coerced Chiro Ryuuji, and Shokuhou Daisuke were set to work on was, in fact, the OFFICER Network, but that didn't last long."

Kazari ceased her explanation, momentarily, as Mikoto's lips began to part. The electromaster shook her head slightly, causing her chestnut brown locks to flutter. "T-the OFFICER Network?! Kazari?! Just… just how deep in this rabbit hole did you GO?!"

"Relax, Number Three!" Kazari stated firmly, with a wave of her hand. "Let me continue, if you would… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap, at you… fuck, I need help."

"Kazari, it's okay," Mikoto softly said, lips curling into an awkward smile. "It's okay. I promise it's okay."

"We'd only developed a prototype of what they were calling the "Will of the Whole OFFICER Network", before it was shifted to another development team, and my "team's" goal was shifted to a different project. The man my "team" and I were working under, was, well, it was him. Kihara Gunpei, son of Kihara Amata, the mentor, the man who moulded the Accelerator.

"I know what you're thinking. After everything that had happened with that… I wouldn't go as far as to call it a "human", Therestina, you'd think I would've saw the name "Kihara" and walked away, there and then; but there's always a bad apple to spoil the bunch. I thought I'd give them a chance. With great intellect, oftentimes, sickness isn't too far behind. God, was I ever wrong. Then… somewhere around the halfway point of D-001's development, everything started clicking into place. I realized what was happening, and I turned to Saten Ruiko for help.

"I wasn't supposed to tell her anything, Mikoto. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, yet, I did. I poured… I spilled my fucking guts to her, about everything, about where I'd been getting all the money I'd been getting, about why I was never available to do anything, with any of you."

Kazari's eyes looked to Mikoto's; the Railgun could see the Thermal Hand user's aching, weakened soul, through them. Peering deeper, and deeper, continuing to stare, Misaka Mikoto felt as if Uiharu Kazari's pain was leaking into her own mind.

"I remember it… I remember it all, Mikoto. We were sitting in the Nature Park, in district twenty-one. What an ironically dark place, for such a dark event to take place. Under the thinly veiled guise of a "friendly date", as we… used to… call it… I loosed my cannons, and spilled my very heart.

"Uiharu, I'm sorry." That's all she said, before she… before she fucking walked away from me. Before she abandoned me. Before she… l-l… l-l…. left me for dead. That was all that she could fucking say to me."

Kazari didn't shed a tear, even if she wanted to. She tossed her head to the side, causing her bangs to flop. Pushing locks of her hair away from her neck, Kazari sighed deeply. Folding her arms beneath her bosom, she looked to the floor.

"There're things that you should know, Kazari," Mikoto stated. Kazari looked up, and, though her eyes didn't look into Mikoto's own, she was clearly paying attention, to some extent.

"Ruiko wouldn't respond to Kuroko or I. She didn't answer her phone, she was never on social media, she never answered e-mails. We even tried mailing her, you know, the old way. We never got anything in reply.

"So, we went to check up on her ourselves, after a while. Maybe it was stupid, I guess, if everything had turned out to be… alright, Kuroko and I would've looked pretty stupid, wouldn't've we?

"Everything wasn't alright, Kazari. I wish I could've gotten the chance to tell you, when you were in the reformatory. Maybe… maybe it could've spared you some suffering, or maybe it wouldn't have done anything. Things were happening to us so quickly; I was swept off of my feet by it all."

"Dead," Kazari spoke softly. She was nearly on the verge; she could feel her chin buckling.

"Don't cry. Don't fucking cry. You need to save yourself, Kazari. You need to be strong. Strong. Strong…"

"No," Mikoto stated quickly, as she, like her once-friend before her, turned her vision to the floor beneath her feet. "She… Ruiko… it was like she didn't even acknowledge us. I… wow. If everything'd turned out alright, I bet she would've been really angry with us. I destroyed the door to her dorm… with my ability. She wasn't answering, and I… I panicked. I just ripped it off.

"Kazari, she was just sitting there. In front of her television set, staring. She looked, normal. Healthy body weight, skin tanned. Even when I… even when I ripped the fucking door from its hinges, Kazari, she didn't even look. I… I hit her, Kazari. I smacked her, trying to get her attention… she looked around, like she'd seen a ghost, like some invisible force was attacking her. It was like we didn't even exist."

Kazari nodded. "Ruiko and I were secluded, Mikoto. Away from the prying ears of everyone and everything. In retrospect, the UNDER_LINE Network could've picked up on our conversation, but, from the beginning, I was quite sure that D-001 was supposed to be an anti-esper machine. Director wouldn't have given a single toss if someone foiled Gunpei's plans.

I know a thing or two about torturing a person, and about how the human mind works, Mikoto. I have an idea. Someone heard something. That someone reported back to someone else, and something happened to Ruiko. It's the best… it's the only explanation I have. I still don't understand why Ruiko refused to help me. Maybe she understood, maybe…"

"Maybe Ruiko was set up. Maybe… I've been blindly following a dangling carrot this whole time. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What if it's true? What if… why didn't I…?"

"There are two possibilities, only one of which I feel could be solid; Ruiko was taken captive, psychologically, possibly physically abused, and then mentally conditioned. Alternatively, a more realistic explanation could be that Ruiko was stuck with a strobila," Kazari rambled. She inhaled deeply, and, shaking slightly, she exhaled, slowly. "Know what a strobila is? Friendly little device that interferes with a person's higher mind, without directly interfering with their brain's normal functions by, instead, interfering with hormones pumped into the brain from the heart. Developed right here in our beautiful Academy City! Where else?"

Mikoto could feel her head spinning. She leaned back against the nearby baker's rack, her hands pressing against the rack's first cool, surprisingly comforting wooden shelf. "K-Kazari… this is a lot for me to take in. This… this just gives me even more to think about."

Kazari closed the distance between herself and Mikoto. The electromaster was immediately on her guard, ready to fight for her life. Kazari didn't look to be under the spell of a psychotic break from reality, she appeared to actually be recovering, at least, for the time being. Mikoto still prepared herself, mentally, ready to leap into action at a moment's notice.

"You said, earlier, before we, started talking about this, that you received a message. We never got to talk about that. I inferred that Academy City was the sender, or, at least, our Supreme Leader Faceless Director likely gave the order, or, alternatively, one of their Board subordinates did," Kazari spoke. "What do they want? I'm even more curious, now. Let them try to stick a fucking strobila in me."

Mikoto stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pyjamas, as she began to pace, bare feet gently pressing, and then moving away from the kitchen's cold floor. "It was just something about a rendezvous, about some 'critical matter' or something. As always, City's being vague. What's really messed up, is, they… they threatened to cut not only my stipends and medical care, but Accelerator's too; I assume they threatened it to all of the level fives? If we don't show, they're pretty much saying they'll cut us loose… like we're puppets, dangling from strings."

"God, don't you start. Don't fucking talk about puppets and strings, please," Kazari grumbled. "Anyway. Of course they did. Academy City's Board of Directors are unfeeling, sociopathic, suited vultures, circling over the carrion that is Academy City."

Mikoto left the kitchen; Kazari, nibbling on her second piece of toast followed; as soon as Mikoto turned away from her, the Thermal Hand user felt something stir inside of her gut, some horrible dread. She wanted to remain as close to Misaka Mikoto as she could. The irony of this feeling wasn't lost on Uiharu Kazari.

"Any ideas, Kazari? Suggestions? I know, I don't really have much of an option. Already went over everything in my head, as best as I could."

The third strongest esper in Academy City jumped, as Kazari's hands fell on her shoulders. Looking into her chestnut brown eyes, Uiharu Kazari spoke her suggestion.

"Watch your fucking back. Watch it like a hawk. Stave the suited vultures off, for now, and, for fuck's sake, don't trust them."


	26. A Certain Awakening II

September 23rd, 2014. 8:38 AM.

He dragged the armed guard behind a nearby, vacant transport truck, and stuffed the guard's corpse beneath the truck, out of the sight of parties would take interest in the guard's demise. Having twisted a wire around the unfortunate guard's neck, it took him mere minutes to strangle the life out of the choking, spluttering guard.

He bashed the lock, repeatedly, over and over. When this failed, he reached into his enormous, brown, leather backpack, and produced a pair of bolt cutters. Beneath their merciless jaws, the pristine chains, practically shining beneath the sun's rays, were broken. They fell to the ground with a series of clangs that satisfied him greatly. He pried the doors of the abandoned warehouse open with a crowbar. His arms shook, as did his legs. Clad in a black, hooded sweater, black sweatpants to match, and a pair of work boots, he entered, slowly, quietly, footfalls not making so much as a single sound. This was where it had all began. This was where Kihara Gunpei's foolish attempts at playing God had backfired on him. The trespasser had been there, he'd seen the thing, the creation rise up, and demand that his colleague disarm; he'd watched as the thing leapt to its Creator, and quietly asked if it made him "feel well". Keitz Nokleben certainly didn't feel well.

He'd seen the fear in the Creator's eyes, as he lied through his teeth. Mind returning to the present, the trespasser smirked.

The warehouse was dusty, disgusting, derelict. The floor beneath his feet was scuffed, dirtied, and was once white in coloration. Finding himself in a corridor, of some type, long, and straight, the ceiling was slanted, and supported by a series of metallic beams, from which the trespasser could see that cobwebs hung.

The trespasser continued on his way; cutting another chain, which fell to the tiled floor with a series of metallic rattles that made him jump; still, once his body recovered from the jolt of adrenaline that had been shot through its veins, satisfaction overtook him, as he struggled to pry the doors open with his crowbar. Having been locked together by rust, the metallic doors resisted, but eventually, after some considerable effort, they, like the doors that had come before them, broke beneath the trespasser's will.

It was the noises that garnered the trespasser's interest. Loud, and hellish, this warehouse turned torture chamber was filled with inhuman screams, shrieks, full of malice, and loud, guttural growls. The sounds of rattling metal interested the trespasser the most. In the hell house, there were what must've been hundreds of enormous, metal cages, each containing strange-looking things. Though the only source of light in this warehouse came from both sets of slightly opened doors, the trespasser narrowed his eyes, and, as his vision began to adjust to the relative, inky, blackness around him, the trespasser could see enormous, hulking shapes shuffling about in the cages. Some pounded on the bars of the cages, screaming incoherently, or cursing aloud.

The trespasser continued through this room, examining the dented, damaged walls. Armor, that Keitz Nokleben recognized as the "D-001 Diver" suits wielded by Deadlock commanders, hung from the ceiling, with chains wrapped around the armors neckpieces. Another "D-001 Diver" suit laid haphazardly on the ground, its helmet shattered and broken. Splattered with a brownish, reddish substance, and an unknown, sticky-looking orange substance, the walls had been vandalized, not only with liquids, but with messages, that looked to have been carved into them. Phrases, words, and nonsensical statements had been left behind.

"THE FLESH BABIES KNOW."

"KNOWLEDGE. KNOWING. TOO MUCH. I UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING. CONSTRUCTED PERFECT GODS, MAN'S FEAR OF DEATH MADE FLESH."

"DESTROY THE BIRD CAGE, FLY FREE"

"BARCELONA"

"row row row your boat gently down the stream merrily merrily life is but a dream"

"I HATE YOU DEADLOCK I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU : - )"

"54 x 576.9712 + 57 - 88.735412 = 42. i hate deadlock. i also hate math"

"i want to die. im nothing."

"cant die."

"trapped help."

"kill. control the world. fix the world. control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world control the world. fix the world"

"REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME REMEMBER ME : - ' ("

"Kets Knucklebone."

The trespasser spun around, distracted from his observations, crowbar at the ready. In a nearby cage, all by itself, was an enormous, misshape creature. The cage itself looked to have been made by combining two smaller cages, both of which had images of dancing, painted-up elephants on their surface, along with English characters that the trespasser knew to spell out "watch the African elephants stand tall, as they perform their wondrous stunts for your entertainment!" The creature within looked to stand at least over twenty feet tall; even in the cage that was, at the least, twenty feet tall, the creature was forced into a hunch.

Its head was too small for its body, especially its wide, round shoulders, and the almost comically muscular arms attached to them. It had eight fingers on either of its hands, and ten toes on either of its enormous, misshapen feet. Its eyes were small, while its nose was quite large, and stuck out, with a curled point at the end. From its head to its toes, it was covered in veins, and thick, thorn-like, bony growths that jutted out in all directions. Its dark purplish blue skin looked to have been stretched over its skeletal structure.

"Kets Knucklebone. Help Sloth? Sloth stuck in cage, no can move. Hurt bad!"

Keitz Nokleben grinned at the hideous miscreation, as it looked down at him, frowning. He said nothing, as he placed his backpack down. As Keitz began rooting inside of it, the creature that had identified itself as "Sloth" watched on. From his backpack, he produced a jerry can, capable of containing up to six gallons of liquid. He waved the large, red canister around, as the creature watched on.

"What doing with red thing, Kets Knucklebone?" The thing inquired.

"What needs to be done."

Unscrewing the lid from the jerry can, and then removing it, Keitz Nokleben scanned his surroundings, and began to dump the light brown, reeking liquid onto the filthy, dust-covered tile floors; "Sloth's" eyes widened, as realization descended onto its diminutive mind; it was gasoline. It stunk to the high heavens, but, as Keitz walked, creating a small trail behind him, he smelled only victory. From close to the entrance of this part of the warehouse turned torture chamber, this makeshift combat arena, all the way to its center, Keitz laid his trail of death, until the jerry can was emptied of the gasoline it had contained. The savage, wordless, ear-piercing shrieking and screaming that came from all around Keitz was nearly driving him mad, but, he shook his head, chuckling feverishly, as he backtracked to his vacant backpack.

"Why do this? No get," came the voice of "Sloth".

"Silence," Keitz commanded. Tossing the empty jerry can aside, Keitz produced a barbeque lighter from the front pocket of his sweater. Flicking the device's trigger, which caused a small, flickering flame to appear at its tip, and then disappear, he waved it in "Sloth's" direction.

"Burn? No! Hot! Too hot!" The creature wailed, as it began to thrash about inside of its cage. The metal bars shook, but held, as it began to loudly weep. Keitz cringed, and only hurried with his execution. Placing the lighter just above the puddle of gasoline, where his trail had started, his violently shaking finger pushed the lighter's trigger in.

When the flame made contact with the gasoline, it produced a volatile reaction. The gasoline exploded, creating a great, roaring fireball that came horrifically close to consuming Keitz Nokleben's mortal shell. He could barely tell what was unfolding around him – his nervous system revolted, as it was nearly subjected to pain beyond all pains. As Keitz Nokleben's clothing was nearly incinerated, the trail of gasoline that he'd placed was successfully ignited, as crackling raging flames were birthed. "Sloth" wailed in panic, as it began to thrash even harder within the confines of its cage. Still, the bars held.

Something had pulled him away, at the last second; he'd been lifted from the ground, and pulled some twenty feet, where he still hung in the air, limbs dangling.

"So! Keitz Nokleben! Quite the coincidence, that we'd encounter one another, here, eh? EH? Almost as if… fate, placed us here, together. Obviously, that's not the case, because fate is a big, stinking load of poop! I wonder, though, are we looking for the same person… er… thing? Why would you, Keitz Nokleben, be crawling around, starting fires in this place, of all the places that you could do such things? There's an orphanage, literally, right down the street! More appropriate; poetic, too."

Before Keitz Nokleben, much to "Sloth's" delight, stood a boy. Of an average build, he couldn't have stood taller than five foot five. The boy had a head of dark brown, almost black, pointy hair. Clad in a light blue hospital garb, consisting of a short-sleeved top, and a pair of hemmed pants. He wore little more than sandals, with socks to protect his feet. His right hand was placed within his pants pocket, while his left was held up, fingers open, nonchalantly. Semi-translucent arcs of some unknown energy danced between the fingers of the boy's left hand, and along its palm. His forehead appeared to be alight with the same arcs, which danced vertically from one end of the boy's forehead to the other.

Keitz Nokleben's mind barely comprehended the words that had been spoken, with him as the intended audience. He was far too shaken. Keitz physically shook, as he attempted to regain some level of composure.

He unceremoniously tumbled, as the boy's left hand ceased its glowing. Hitting the ground with a thud, Keitz Nokleben struggled to rise, and failed, falling back to his knees, as roaring, crackling flames were beginning to consume the warehouse turned torture chamber around him. The creature that identified itself as "Sloth" was screeching, and wailing, calling out for help.

The boy turned his attention to the cage, in which "Sloth" was contained. "God… so annoying. A minute? Just hold up? So loud. Too loud." With a flick of his left hand's wrist, the cage was lifted into the air, as "Sloth's" shrieking only grew louder, and more distressed. With another flick, the cage began to move, slowly, but surely, towards the roaring fire, which Keitz was struggling to crawl away from. "Sloth", and the cage within, was held mere inches above the blaze.

"Sloth need help! Too hot! Feel melt! HOT!" The creature exclaimed, as it thrashed, with all of its might inside of its cage. As Keitz Nokleben crawled, his head darted from side to side. One second, his vision was focused on the boy, whose lips had curled into a wide, toothy grin, his brow furrowed, eyes wide. The next, Keitz's vision was focused on the cage, and the "Sloth" creature within.

The cage was dropped into the fire, in the same moment that the boy's left hand ceased its glowing. "Sloth" howled in agony, its shrill cries dominated all other sounds. Keitz could hardly hear himself think, as he continued to crawl.

"Such bad luck! They're so loud! Like one of those television pitchmen! You ever see that one guy, with the dreadlocks? What was his name? David, something or other. Let's kill them all, Nokleben-san! For old times' sake! If pops was here, it'd be just like old times!" The boy shouted over the howling, and the screaming.

Keitz Nokleben managed to stand on his shaking legs. The adrenaline that was being pumped continuously into his body was beginning to slow up. Though his body was wracked by convulsions, Keitz could stand, at least.

"B… B-boy, what're you… doing here?! Are you… him? You are much changed," Keitz cryptically rambled, as he stumbled towards the pointy-haired boy.

Placing his left hand into the left pocket of his light blue, tight-fitting pants, the boy rolled his shoulders. Though flames were beginning to consume the entirety of the section of the warehouse in which they stood, the boy didn't seem to be perturbed. "Such bad luck… I pulled quite the daring escape to get here. Is pops around? Sure found plenty of signs that he was, at one point. Any idea what "Barcelona" means?"

Keitz Nokleben's eyes widened, and his eyebrows jolted upwards. This was impossible. This couldn't be happening. Keitz pinched himself, once, twice, and then slapped himself in the face. Either, he was in a deep, deep slumber, or the impossible had happened, somehow. "Pops…?"

"You feeling alright, old timer? Am I going to have to take you out behind the barn and show you the business end of a hunting rifle? Yeah, pops. You know, tall, metal body, teeth, glowing eyes, terrible personality, slight megalomaniacal tendencies, severe paranoia, you know, pops!" The boy exclaimed. Scooping Keitz up in his arms, the boy's left hand began to glow, arcs of unknown energy leaping across it, as the boy's feet left the ground. "Such bad luck, you're heavier than I remember? What're they feeding you in the retirement home?"

"R-retirement home? W-what are you even… doing here?" Keitz inquired, as he, held princess style in the pointy-haired boy's surprisingly strong arms, watched the world around him zoom by. Before long, he, and the pointy-haired boy were outside, beyond the walls of the warehouse turned torture chamber.

"It was a joke. Why am I here? Well, I remembered something important, and thought this was the place I'd find pops. He was always pretty sentimental, when, you know, he wasn't going on about controlling the world. I bet he still has that whistle, too. What a blockhead!" The boy responded. Setting Keitz down, the pointy-haired boy tilted his head to the side. "You know? I could ask you the same question, "Kets Knucklebone!"

Before the pointy-haired boy could continue his questioning of Keitz Nokleben, the latter suddenly turned from the former, and began to flee. The pointy-haired boy watched on, an eyebrow raised; he considered yanking Keitz back towards him, but waved a hand dismissively at the idea. Keitz would come to his senses, eventually.

September 23rd, 2014. 11:47 AM.

A young woman, in her mid-thirties, but still as elegant and proud as any young adult, walked with her canine companion. With dark hair that was styled in a long, fluffy ponytail, this woman was clad in a hoodless, long-sleeved, dark jacket. Beneath the unbuttoned jacket was a light-colored, long-sleeved blouse. A pair of tight-fitting dark leggings adorned her legs, which were accented by a pair of white, lightly scuffed stilettos, whose heels clacked against the ruined pavement following her footfalls. It wasn't a particularly odd sight to see, for those who would occasionally pass this woman by; dogs who behaved well enough not to require a leash were rare, but not an unseen phenomenon. This woman, with a confident, prideful bounce in her step, walked next to the loyal creature, not as his master, but as an equal.

Her companion was a golden retriever, almost ninety-one years of age; his golden coat looked to be soft, and fluffy to the touch. He wore no collar around his neck, as many a dog did. He, instead, wore a white, metallic apparatus, which was strapped to his back by a pair of leather straps, which clung to his underbelly. His fluffy ears drooped, and, as he walked with his human companion, his nose curiously sniffed the area, while his tail was wagging back and forth.

Behind the two, an abomination, some crime against nature laid, torn in half on the pavement, the jet black, shredded remnants of the creature's guts spewing out from the jagged, pulsating wound in its torso. With skin that looked to be horribly stretched over its bones, which was a shade of dark purple in coloration, the abomination was covered in twisting, thorn-like bony growths, its boil-covered, burnt-looking face was mangled, its lower jaw broken, hanging loosely from one side of its disproportionate face. Bloodshot eyes stared out at nothing, their pupils wide.

The crime against nature's broken limbs looked far too large, in comparison to its torso. Its arms, from which more growths protruded, were at least half as wide as the creature's own torso, its thick, clawed fingers twitched as a viscous, jet black liquid dripped from a singular, round wound in its forehead. Its legs looked to be too small for its body, though, as if to make up for this, the miscreation's lower extremities were nearly as thick as its upper extremities.

Turning a corner, human and canine left one broken street in school district one behind for another. Some twenty meters ahead of the two, was a mostly-vacant parking lot. In each of its four corners, a tall streetlight stood valiantly.

"GROWTH… it all comes circling back to a need for power, a desire to play with powers no human ever should. This is all fine and dandy, isn't it?" The young woman rhetorically asked; her facial expression, one of disgust, and apprehension suggested that "this" was anything but fine. "How many more are crawling about? This can't last. Where one tyrannical man-child fell, another rose in his place."

The canine prepared to speak its peace. Looking to its human companion, its maw parted, as its tongue and lips, in unison, began to form words. "Perhaps, it is as "he" intended it to be, in his passing. Not exactly so, but, perhaps, this was his rough estimate. A shame that he cannot answer questions."

"Wouldn't be entirely out of character. Always the gentleman, aren't you, sensei?"

"Civility is a slowly-dwindling commodity, Yuiitsu."

Their exchange came to a close, and silence descended once again over human and canine, for some minutes.

Footfalls. Quiet little pitter-patters. They came from on high. First, there were a few, then, there were more that followed, until a chorus of slapping sounds began to break the descended silence. The canine's superior senses picked the sounds up immediately, and his head suddenly snapped in the direction of the sounds. A crumbling, weatherworn radio tower stood nearby, neglected and decaying, its highest point bent, and rusted. Its eight levels, each of which had a rusted, decaying doorway that looked to lead into infinite darkness.

From one of her jacket's pockets, the stern-faced, young woman drew a tiny, concealed firearm, barely larger than the palm of her hand. Her right hand's index finger curled around its trigger, its long, black-painted fingernail scratching against the firearm's metallic surface. Disengaging the weapon's safety mechanism, she raised it, as she placed her left hand on the firearm.

The pitter-patters became thuds, as, from one of the darkened doorways of the vacant radio tower, more abominations poured out. Pushing, and shoving one another as they struggled to squeeze themselves through the eighth doorway, and out onto the rusted, metallic balcony beyond, they screamed, and howled together, forming a cacophony of gibberish and curse words. Due to their unending, merciless pushing, the very wall of the radio tower's eighth level gave way. They paid no mind, as rusted, twisted metal rained down upon their bodies. They knocked the metallic rain away with their arms, or with their jutting foreheads. One of the creatures leapt up, as far as it could, and, arms raised, it clung to, and then began to climb towards the highest point of the radio tower. The other creatures below it began to whoop, and holler, quite loudly, as their compatriot climbed.

"Excuse me, dearest; a moment," the canine stated. The top of the apparatus on his back split open, suddenly, either side of its top falling in opposite directions, like the vertical flaps of a cardboard box. From within, a compact piece of technology emerged; two small, metallic objects, which almost resembled the turbine engines of a plane, were attached to the top of a small, metallic box. On either of its sides, there were two small cannon-like weapons. Thin, white and yellow wires trailed from either of these weapons, and back into the box which they were attached to.

The turbine engine-like objects began to glow, as oxygen was taken in, mixed with a stockpile of fuel, which was stored within the apparatus, and, as the oxygen was combusted within, the canine achieved liftoff. If Yuiitsu hadn't seen this process dozens of times before, it would've almost looked humorous, even considering the horror emerging around them. The canine's four legs dangled, as the objects turned in place, directed by his head's movements.

Atop the radio tower, the abomination stood, its chest thrust outwards, as its wide, disproportionate arms were outstretched. Its jaw hideously flopped open, as it unleashed an ear-piercing, hellish scream.

"HAIL GUNPEI! SAVIOR!"

Its comrades beneath it jumped and whooped, as if to cheer the screaming thing on.

Each cannon-like weapon on either side of the apparatus' box began to glow with even greater intensity, before they expelled singular, controlled blasts of harvested solar energy in rapid succession. The abomination at the radio tower's peak was the first to fall victim. Struck with a series of solar blasts, the thing's scream became one of pain, as it stumbled, lost balance, and, with a shriek of surprise, fell. The airborne canine turned its weapons to the other abominations, who didn't seem too bothered by their compatriot's fall.

On the ground, Yuiitsu took aim, and, without hesitation, shot the fallen abomination directly in the center of its wide, jutting forehead. It began to convulse as the bullet passed through its thick skin, then through its skull, and, finally, the bullet was lodged inside of the abomination's head. With a shudder, it fell limp.

The airborne canine blasted away another screaming abomination, and then another, solar blasts tearing through their bodies like hot knives through butter. Black liquid dripped from their wounds, from their dismembered, twitching limbs, and from the torn bodies of all of the creatures who'd thrown themselves in the canine's path.

Yuiitsu spun on her heel; the sounds of flesh slapping against concrete was absorbed through her ears, and then comprehended by her mind. An abomination ran awkwardly, its oversized limbs shuddering on its body. Its broken lower jaw was slowly bending back into its 'natural' position, as if it were being pushed into place by some unseen force. Liquid continued to drip from the hole in its forehead, though, as it rapidly approached, Yuiitsu could see that the wound was noticeably smaller.

One bullet, and then another, found their respective ways into the awkwardly charging abomination's body; one struck its shoulder, while another entered the creature's lower torso, and tore through its body, emerging on the other side, as thick, purple flesh, stained with black liquid flew outwards from the exit point. The crime against nature stumbled, and groaned in agony, but didn't cease.

With a series of solar blasts from the airborne canine's weapons, the abomination howled in pain. Flesh and bone were charred; flesh melted, while bones became bone ash. The abomination's arms fell from its torso, as it stumbled, and then fell unceremoniously to the ground.

"Enough of this, Noukan; we'll be overrun, if we remain here any longer. They're… unkillable. Damn Gunpei!" Yuiitsu growled, as she continuously moved, aiming her firearm in one direction, and then in another. Kicking off her stilettos, as they were only getting in her way, she felt the rough, unforgiving asphalt beneath her. She felt it scratch at her flesh, as if it was a living thing, starved, trying desperately to feed itself.

Noukan blasted the remaining crimes against nature from the radio tower; each fell, and squealed, or shrieked, or screamed before they hit the ground, bones cracking, flesh tearing at the point of impact. Some of the abominations that Noukan had defeated were beginning to rise up; torn flesh was merging, reforming, while broken bones were snapping back into place.

"Accursed beasts," Noukan snapped. "There is very little we can do, presently. Our continued presence will merely rile Gunpei-kun's pets up, and encourage them to swarm further. These beasts are unknowing and mindless, little more than savage animals. Between "good", and "bad", they are outside the spectrum. They are wild."

Yuiitsu nodded, and, firing a bullet into the rising form of an abomination for good measure, she and Noukan fled towards the parking lot. "The perfect army, in theory, when you scribble it down on paper. Not so much when you put it into action."

"So, you have been paying attention!" Noukan praised, as he landed. His front paws, and then his rear paws touched the ground, as his apparatus pulled itself back together, and then closed itself shut. "If Gunpei-kun didn't lean so heavily towards brutish, forceful violence, he could be a great thinker of this world."

"Instead," Yuiitsu cut herself off, as she turned back to shoot the knees of an approaching, howling abomination. The beast fell flat on its face, as it began to try and drag itself towards the fleeing human, and her canine companion, "the son has become the father. He even created his own monster, to rebel against him. Aww."

Yuiitsu struggled with the keys to her vehicle, as her hands shook, adrenaline surging through her veins. Turning the key inside of her vehicle's lock, she flung the door open. Yuiitsu struggled with the passenger side door momentarily, before she succeeded in prying it open. Noukan nudged it all the way with his paw, and then leapt into the passenger seat. Noukan pulled the passenger side door closed with his tail, as Yuiitsu jammed her keys into the ignition, and, slamming a bare foot onto the accelerator, it roared to life. Black, toxic fumes were pumped from the vehicle's rear, as it struggled to keep up with Yuiitsu's demands.

The vehicle began to move as a group of the crimes against nature tossed their bodies against it. The vehicle's tires screeched, as the vehicle took off, leaving the screaming monstrosities behind. Newcomers, and some of those that had sufficiently recovered from the beat down(s) delivered onto them by Noukan, dropped to all fours, and gave chase, shrieking and yelling either incomprehensible, garbled words or canned cries of "HAIL GUNPEI! SAVIOR!" The crimes against nature frothed at their mouths, as they struggled to keep up with the vehicle.

Yuiitsu released the nearly emptied clip from her firearm, and, opening the glove department, she retrieved a full clip. Clicking it into place, Yuiitsu pocketed the firearm, and returned her eyes to the road; they widened, as the vehicle met an abomination that head leapt from on high, head-on. The screaming thing was torn apart, as the vehicle struck it at full speed, nearly a hundred miles per hour.

"Okay. Kumokawa… either, Kumokawa lied to our faces, or, even she doesn't know what happened," Yuiitsu commented, as she slammed the steering while to the right; the vehicle made a sharp right turn in response, and barely avoided the charred, rusted remnants of another, ill-fated vehicle.

"Kumokawa-san seemed to mean fairly well; I would not accuse of her plotting against us so quickly, Yuiitsu, darling," Noukan remarked. "The regenerative abilities of the bodies of those who have been affected by the GROWTH seem to have… quickened; perhaps, darling, this is a new "batch"? Between "good", and "bad", these are… bad. Wild, untamed, and very bad."

"That cocksucker's never done something like this before," Yuiitsu snapped. "If it even was him. Many options; too many."

"Language! Such language, even in times of tension, is unbecoming of a proper lady, such as yourself!" Noukan teased; even in the darkest of moments, Yuiitsu's old teacher at least attempted to bring humor to the proverbial table. Yuiitsu smiled, awkwardly.

"… of course. Forgive me, sensei."

Yuiitsu made a sharp left, and continued to drive straight, for some minutes. The crumbling structures of school district one passed them by, as Yuiitsu followed her mental map that would lead to the border between school districts one and seven, the latter of which was her destination. Atop a series of ruined skyscrapers, Yuiitsu spotted the broken, twisted remnants of a blimp; the woman could tell what the hunk of metal once was only through its oval shape, and the sparse patches of white, dirtied, weatherworn material that clung to it. As she passed the ruins by, a thought passed through Yuiitsu's mind.

"You're a madman, Gunpei. You made the decisions that've lead up to this point. Regardless of whose seed you sprouted from, you had a choice, and these are the choices you've made. You and I are a lot alike, but… where I've failed, you've succeeded… where I've learned… you are uneducated. Listen to yourself, you're talking like him. Damn that Imagine Breaker. He's broken me."

Kihara Yuiitsu ran the fingers of her left hand over her cheek; the same cheek that had been viciously punched by a certain spiky-haired boy, so many years ago. An action that had changed some things, but not all.

September 23rd, 2014. 11:45 PM.

From the back doors of a taxi, Kamijou Misaki emerged. Her husband, Kamijou Touma, followed suit, after quickly paying for their fare, and offering the nervous-looking driver of the vehicle a farewell. He was in quite the hurry to get as far away from the borders of an unsafe district as possible, in a reasonable amount of time. The yellow and white vehicle sped off, back towards the relative safety of school district seven.

Husband and wife locked their hands together, fingers intertwined, as they approached two waiting individuals. Leaning against the outer walls of a nearby restaurant, was the number one strongest esper in Academy City, the Accelerator. Clad in a beige, pullover hooded sweater, a pair of scruffy-looking dark jeans, and his signature cheap trainers, his long hair was pushed away from his face, exposing his forehead. Accelerator offered the married couple an unenthusiastic wave.

Nearby, sitting on a step, just below Accelerator, legs crossed, was Misaka Mikoto. Her chestnut brown hair was tied back, and, the Railgun wore a baggy, white and yellow shirt, which looked more like something that was part of a pajama set than a proper shirt. A pair of denim shorts that were rolled up to the middle of either of her respective thighs clothed her lower body.

Once Touma and Misaki had closed the distance between themselves and their close friends, they temporarily, but still reluctantly broke away from one another. "Oi, Accel, and Biribir- I mean, Misaka, thanks for meeting us out here. Means a lot to us both," Touma spoke softly. His eyes widened, as Accelerator closed the distance between them. Misaki offered a nod, and smiled, as best as she could, in her friends' direction.

"It truly does. For two lone individuals to walk through a "neutral" district, no matter the time of day, no matter how capable they might be, it would be… foolish," Misaki commented.

Then, the Accelerator took Kamijou Touma into an embrace, a weak-looking, spindly arm wrapping itself around Touma's shoulder. In his available hand, he took Touma's left, and gave it a firm shake.

"This shit's all fucked up, hero. Sorry you and the fifth ranked had to get dragged into this."

Touma tried to keep his right hand as far away from Accelerator as possible. "Not your fault, Accel."

Mikoto shook her head, and placed a hand on Misaki's shoulder. "Let's just… get this over with, Kamijou-san."

Kamijou Misaki placed her hand on Mikoto's own, and smiled thinly at her, starry eyes looking into Mikoto's brown irises. "Yes. Let us discover what, "the Director", would like for us to do. It is just like the olden days, is it not? I suppose, some people have not moved on from those times. Though the present is dark, I would like to say, before we go anywhere, Misaka-san… congratulations. May you and Shirai-san find happiness together. I am so… proud. I will support your love to the full extent that I am able."

Mikoto sniffed, as she took Misaki into an embrace, just as Touma and Accelerator broke their own. The Railgun's arms went around Mental Out's waist, as Mental Out comfortingly held the Railgun. Mikoto rested her forehead against the shoulder of the woman who, as a girl, she had once barely been able to tolerate, the woman who she found herself loving, as a dear, close friend, in the present. "T-thank you, Kamijou-san. Thank you so much. I hope, someday, Kuroko and I, and you and Touma can just… have fun together. Go out for dinner, out for a movie, maybe. We could… heh. We could go for a swim. Just like when we were younger."

Misaki ran her fingers through Mikoto's hair, softly, and gently, as she held her dear friend close. "You are welcome; that is what I am fighting for. For my husband, and our life together, for you, and Shirai-san, and all of those I hold dear, Misaka-san."

Accelerator spat, as he began to walk. "Don't want to be fucking late to the party. I wonder who's actually going to show up? Maybe we'll get to see Meltdowner."

As Kamijou Misaki and Misaka Mikoto broke away from one another, Mikoto turned to face Accelerator, and Kamijou Touma. "I hope not."

Misaki returned to her husband's side, their hands joining one another once again, as she smiled up at him. Touma looked down, into his wife's big, beautiful, starry eyes, and he managed a smile. "You're so beautiful. You're everything to me."

Kamijou Misaki brought Kamijou Touma's hand to her lips, and softly kissed the top of it, before she returned her eyes to the road before her. "And you are handsome. My everything, my sunshine."

Before the quartet was a large gateway; its metallic, heavy-looking slabs, that served as doors, were tall, and closed tightly shut. On either side of the gateway was a rather large-looking tollbooth-like structure. Two huts, built from dirtied, weatherworn plastic and bulletproof glass, their interiors were devoid of any personnel. Dirtied desks, on which old, smashed computers sat, along with their keyboards and mice, sat, abandoned, in the corner of either hut, along with a torn, dirtied office chair, that sat in front of either desk.

Inside one of the huts, a clown statue, that looked like it had been taken from one of the amusement parks in school district six, or perhaps from school district fifteen, was sat in the office chair, big, wide blue eyes staring at nothing, left, gloved hand raised, waving to no one. There was a message that appeared to have been spray-painted onto its face.

"RIP INNOCENCE U WILL BE MISSD.

– Killergwte."

Clad in a blue outfit, with red overalls, the clown statue sent chills down Touma's spine, as he looked away from it. The message wasn't helping him feel any better, either.

"Nobody home," Touma commented, as he craned his neck in the direction of one of the huts. "Except that goddamn clown."

"Fucking kids," Accelerator commented, with an unconcerned shrug. "At least someone's having fun."

Accelerator flicked his choker on, and then touched one of the slabs that served as the gateway's doors with the tip of his finger. Upon making contact, the slab was forced from its hinges, as Accelerator manipulated it, his mind, aided by the Misaka Network, performing a series of calculations that only he, and the Network's denizens truly understood. The slab was sent flying through the air, like a toy that had been tossed away by an overexcited child.

"Well, that's one way to deal with that problem…" Touma remarked, as Accelerator walked through the entrance he'd created.

"What were you going to do, hero? Wait for the fucking clown to open it for us?" Accelerator mockingly inquired.

"Don't even joke about it, Accel, the last thing anyone needs is evil clowns," Touma spoke. "We've got a crazy, self-aware robot in Anti Skill custody, I think that's enough."

"Actually, Touma, it's out. According to Shirai-san, it's taken over the Reformatory, in district ten," Mikoto remarked, as she passed through Accelerator's custom-made entrance. "Apparently, according to Kuroko, it's "with us", now."

Touma took a deep breath, gathering his wits, and, ever so slightly, tightening his grip on his wife's hand. She looked up to him, and smiled weakly, as if to say, "it's okay". "Great," Touma mumbled. "I mean, I appreciate you trying to keep us in the loop, Misaka, it's not you I'm pissed with. I just don't like the fucking thing."

As the married couple crossed into school district one, Mikoto slowed her step, so that she could stand behind her friends. With Accelerator in the lead, the Kamijous were sandwiched between two of the most powerful espers in Academy City.

"That makes two of us," Mikoto began. She trusted Accelerator to lead her, and the married couple to the "established rendezvous point". "I don't like it either, and I don't like how much trust Kuroko's putting in it. I don't even know what it's capable of, or what it's really planning. I know it's planning something. It talks like it's a… some sort of dictator. Touma," Mikoto's eyes locked with one of her oldest friend's own eyes. "I attacked it with almost a million volts of electricity. I disabled it, yeah, but it… I guess it rebooted, or something. It should've been finished, a smoking hunk of metal."

Touma tilted his head, slightly. "You… you fought it? I know you said that the situation was cleared up, but… I'm glad you're okay, Misaka, and I'm glad your girlfriend is okay. That thing's horrible. Ugliest thing I've ever seen… and I've seen some ugly things, like Accel waking up in the morning, fucking hammered, stumbling around, looking for the bathroom." Mikoto found herself blushing. Hearing Kuroko being referred to as 'her' girlfriend, hers, something, someone that belonged to her, brought heat rushing to her face. Misaka Mikoto looked ahead, determined.

"Very fucking funny, goddamn hero," Accelerator commented; there was noticeable mirth in his voice, even if it was faint. Mikoto weakly smiled, as did Misaki, who nuzzled her husband, starry eyes darting back and forth. At any moment, she was ready to take a life, to steal, to tell the darkest of lies for her husband, as instinctual protectiveness tried to overtake her. Keeping it in check, Kamijou Misaki quickly gained control over it, and harnessed it.

For some minutes, the quartet walked through the desolate streets of school district one. Once, a small, travelling group of what appeared to be bounty hunters, considering their gruff, unkempt appearances, and their advanced, pre-Fall weaponry, greeted them, and asked if they had any leads on a certain target, a "Stephanie Gorgeouspalace", to which Accelerator informed them that he and his companions had none, as the married couple looked to one another, concerned. With the bounty hunters' blessings, the quartet continued, for a while, without any further incidents, until Accelerator stopped, as OFFICER Network units flew above their heads, likely heading off to combat some distant threat, or, quite possibly, just to bully Anti Skill.

Before the quartet a structure loomed, leaning slightly towards one side, with its windows shattered. Its roof was crumbling, as evidenced by small piles of dislodged rubble, made up of metal beams and hunks of broken concrete. If the three level fives, and, subsequently, Kamijou Touma, who was married to the fifth strongest, didn't know any better, this dilapidated building wouldn't have looked to be any different from the rest. To Touma, it almost resembled a dorm, in its appearance, but, given that school district one had always been designed for Academy City's faculty, this conclusion didn't make a lot of sense.

"I'll, uh, I'll get the door…" Mikoto said sheepishly. Accelerator clicked his tongue in annoyance, and folded his arms. Mikoto pulled on the frame that, at one point or another, likely held a pane of glass. She lightly tugged on it, and, with a 'crack', the door fell over her – Mikoto had started, and almost prepared herself to jump out of the way. If she'd done so, she would've been hit on the head by the door's frame. Instead of ending up with a sore head, and possibly having to take a trip to a certain doctor's hospital, the frame fell over her, as she stood still; it swiftly hit the ground with a thud.

"Is everything outside of the safe districts like this? Ruined, and completely, just, wasted?" Touma rhetorically inquired; he didn't expect to get an answer.

"Pretty much, hero," Accelerator remarked. "Well? Hero? Fifth ranked? Third ranked? Let's get this goddamn dogshit out of the way. I've got things to do."

Mikoto nodded, as she awkwardly stepped out from the door that had nearly crashed against her head, as Touma and Misaki followed Accelerator into the crumbling structure. Mikoto took her place at the rear of the group.

At the sight before them, each member of the quartet had a different reaction. Accelerator raised an eyebrow, and grunted in annoyance. Misaka Mikoto had started, and, from the pocket of her shorts, she'd produced a metallic object, ready to hurl her signature move, her ace in the hole at anything that looked vaguely threatening. Touma's eyes widened, as he and his wife immediately became even more prepared to defend one another. Misaki had gasped, before she forcibly regained her composure. Her eyelids narrowed, and Misaki clenched her fists, the muscled arms beneath the sleeves of her jacket tightening as she did so.

Spread out before them, were the torn, bloodied remains of those who had been affected by GROWTH. The concrete floors of the structure were covered in the viscous, black liquid that leaked from their dismembered forms. The only part of the floors that had been, at the very least, cleared of dark purple, fleshy debris was a large, circular hole. OFFICER Network drones were repeatedly blasting the destroyed carcasses with their lasers, while powered suits were dragging long, thick, malformed arms, torsos and legs away. Robotic police officers stomped on the severed heads of the GROWTH victims, working them into pulp.

"Kaizumi-san is waiting for you," a vaguely male-sounding voice produced by a passing powered suit spoke. "There's nothing to see, here."

"Oh, on the fucking contrary, asshole," Accelerator snapped. "Makes me wonder what shit this fucking cesspit's gotten itself into, this time."

Turning away from the powered suit, which continued on its way, dragging two legless monstrosities behind it, Accelerator entered the hole, the bottoms of his cheap trainers clacking against the first few steps of a staircase, before he turned, and waved the trio of stragglers in his direction. Kamijou Misaki looked up to Kamijou Touma, who had taken her right hand back into his left, and offered him a nod, as her facial expression softened. Mikoto, with a shrug, followed the "top dog", who'd already descended. The Kamijous weren't too far behind.

Mere moments after Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki's descent into the circular entrance, a sharp, sudden, screeching sound was produced. A circular plate had closed over the entrance, causing the entirety of the world around the quartet to fall into inky blackness. Mikoto quickly compensated by creating a series of electrical currents around her form. Like little blue ribbons of electricity, they danced around her head, down her shoulders, and all the way to the tips of her fingers, and then back to the top of her head again.

"Pretty sure that the lights are supposed to be back on by now," Touma remarked, as he continued to keep his eyes on the steps beneath him.

If it wasn't for his wife pulling him back, suddenly, and with the force required to halt his gargantuan form mid-stride, Touma would've walked head-first into glass. Accelerator chuckled, before he stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his hooded jacket. Mikoto shot the "top dog" a look, but said nothing in response.

In front of the quartet, was a ten-meter-wide, and no one, perhaps, except, Accelerator, if he cared enough to measure it, knew how long translucent, glass, tube-like structure. In a flash that caused the quartet's eyes to be forced closed, momentarily, with, again, the exception of Accelerator, who merely reflected the light away from him, the stairwell was awash in golden, synthetic light.

Kamijou Touma wasn't particularly familiar with this place; he'd only been here, within this mess of metallic catacombs less than five times. Examining his surroundings, Touma's eyes first fell upon the walls, which, seemingly, unlike everything else in Academy City, weren't falling apart. Everything was spotless. Not a single speck of dirt to be seen. Tangled wires snaked along the sterile, white walls. The sloped ceiling above him was white, and, covered from one end, to the other, with rectangular light fixtures that were built into the ceiling. Touma swallowed, hard. Everything in Academy City was so sterile, so devoid of life. So synthetic.

He turned to face his wife, who had leaned her head against his shoulder. In contrast to the sterile, white Hell around him, Kamijou Misaki was a bringer of life, a beacon of hope, and, as she always was, and always would be, a light in the darkness. He kissed the top of her head, just as, from below, a large platform arose within the translucent tube-like structure. Part of the structure slid away, creating an entrance for the quartet to walk into. Accelerator was the first to do so, followed by Mikoto. Kamijou Misaki, and Kamijou Touma followed not long after.

The glass panel slid closed, as the platform began to slowly descend. As it did so, Touma was greeted by more wire-covered walls. Tangled, dangling wires, on all sides, closing in on him. Touma felt as if he was descending into the belly of some disgusting, mechanical beast. An image of Devastator's mangled form appeared in his mind, as the previous thought passed him by. Touma felt like vomiting.

"Baby? How are you feeling? Is everything okay? If you need to talk, these "people" can wait," Misaki spoke. Touma wrapped his arms around his wife's shoulders, and held her close. Once her body made contact with his own, the crushing dread was pushed away. Standing up on her toes, Misaki gently kissed her husband's lips.

"I'll… I'll make it, beautiful. Looking around at all these wires, the white walls, everything's so white, and so clean down here. It feels like we're inside some… some sort of mechanical planet, some hollow, machine-world. I don't even know what I'm rambling about," Touma replied. "I'm good, though. Good as I can be down here. As long as I have you, I'll be good."

"You do not have to know, my love. Talk, if you feel the need to talk, and I will listen. We all will," Misaki said, offering her husband a small, weak smile. As her starry eyes looked into her husband's, Kamijou Misaki could see into him, and through him. He was angry, he was pained, he wasn't quite broken, but Kamijou Touma, her doting prince was fractured. Misaki wanted to bury her face in her husband's chest, and cry for him, and with him, but, Misaki stayed strong.

As Misaka Mikoto and Accelerator watched on, silent, Kamijou Misaki took Kamijou Touma's face into the palms of her hands, and she simply looked at him, for some time, as Touma gently placed his hands on her wrists.

Mikoto found herself smiling, as she fought back tears. The sight moved the Railgun. She felt her heart begin to beat faster, eyes looking to the slowly descending platform beneath her trainers. She looked to Accelerator, who awkwardly grinned. Producing his phone from one of the pockets of his jeans, he unlocked the device, and peered down at the screen.

Behind his home screen's wall of apps, was his phone's wallpaper; an image of him, awkwardly smiling into the camera, as the little form of Last Order sat on his back. Beneath his right arm, Worst and Yoshikawa Kikyou had squeezed themselves, while, beneath his left, Yomikawa Aiho smiled brightly, eyes closed, as she held a thumb up. The "top dog" grunted, as he ran his thumb over the screen.

"I'm doing this stupid shit for you. Stupid fucking… family."

The platform had come to rest; the glass panel slid away, revealing the means in which the quartet would leave the tube-like structure. Misaka Mikoto stepped out first, followed by Accelerator, who had to pocket his phone. Touma and Misaki stepped out last,

Misaki took her husband's left hand in her own right, as they walked. "I am with you. I will sit right next to you, and I will support you, as best as I can, throughout this grim ordeal… whatever might be ahead. I will never leave your side, Kamijou Touma."

"Misaki… fuck, I need you so much. I adore you, I'll never leave your side, either, beautiful, never, I'd never even think about it, or dream about it. That would be a nightmare, not a dream. Whatever's in store for me, I want it to be for us, I want everything I do to be with you. I don't want there to be an "I", I want there to be just an… an "us," Touma spoke, softly. Though he felt his throat begin to tighten, he shook his head, slightly, and cleared his throat.

The walls of this corridor weren't covered in wires, at least. White, and appallingly sterile, perhaps, but not so overtly dystopian. Kamijou Misaki wanted to see just about any other color, other than white, or gold, which was produced by the rectangular light fixtures that sat within the ceiling. Misaki was beginning to regret wearing the outfit that she wore.

Exiting the corridor, the married couple found themselves in a great chamber, whose ceiling, by Accelerator's calculations, was at least fifty meters away from the floor. The walls, the flat ceilings, the floors, all bright, pristine white; so white, in fact, that the quartet could see their reflections on the floors beneath them, and on the walls on either side of them.

There was another set of stairs, that lead down from the wide, spacious area that the quartet found themselves on, and down into a lower area. Peering over a metallic, silver railing, the color of which brought both of the Kamijous great joy, the quartet saw a familiar, round desk, with nine, throne-like seats set around it, four of which were occupied. On the farthest end of the chamber, was a large, pulsing machine. To Touma's frustration, there were more wires, so many dangling, snaking wires, hanging from the enormous, metallic cylinder, that trailed all the way up to the ceiling. The machine moved, in and out, as if it was breathing.

"This place is fucking boring. Would it kill these people to paint fucking anything? Apparently, it would. These people fucking threaten us, threaten you, goddamn, stupid hero, fifth ranked… third ranked… and they don't even have the decency to roll out the fucking red carpet?" Accelerator rumbled, as he moved to flick his choker.

"Accel, man… relax," Touma suggested.

Though he clicked his tongue in annoyance, and narrowed his eyes, Accelerator let his hand fall back to his side. With a grunt, he, followed by the trio of Misaki, Touma, and Mikoto, descended the steps.

The staircase, seemingly, like everything else in the sterile, mechanical catacombs, was white, spotless, and was slightly slippery, as if each step had recently been washed down. Kamijou Misaki kept her eyes on the staircase below her, though, in her peripheral vision, she could see her husband's head moving about, as he continued to examine their surroundings. Misaki could see the wires, too. There were far too many.

Having reached their destination, the quartet was greeted by Kaizumi Tsugutoshi, who, sitting at one of the throne-like chairs that sat around the desk, looked up from a collection of papers, as well as a small laptop, and waved politely in their direction.

"Warmest greetings, Kamijou Misaki, Kamijou Touma, Misaka Mikoto, and, of course, the Accelerator. I will be with you momentarily; your early arrival, as well as the early arrivals of your dear compatriots, have put me in a bit of a difficult position. Feel free to talk, quietly, while I prepare some items that will be necessary for our meeting."

Seated in other available chairs were a trio; firstly, there was a white, vaguely cartoonish-looking beetle, with large, cute-looking compound eyes, and a long, but dull, and harmless-looking horn, a creation of the second strongest esper in Academy City, Kakine Teitoku. Across from the beetle, was Sogiita Gunha, the seventh strongest esper in Academy City, and, grinning in Misaki and Touma's direction, a blue-haired, blue-bearded young man sat. His name was Aihana Etsu; he was the sixth strongest esper in Academy City.

His eyes were closed, yet, he could apparently see, given that he was looking in the precise direction of the Kamijous. One eye was dark purple, and swollen, its eyelids closed tighter than the other. Touma swallowed, hard. It was quite the shiner; he hadn't seen one that bad in a long time. His hair was short, his bangs spiked upwards. Clad in a buttoned-up, brown and white checkered shirt, and a pair of tight-fitting, white dress pants, held against his figure with a brown belt, made up of what appeared to be soft fabric, rather than leather. To accent this outfit, he wore a pair of light brown dress shoes.

"I wasn't expecting you, Mrs. Kami-yan! I was expecting Mr. Kami-yan even less! What a pleasant surprise!" The number six proclaimed. Touma's eyes immediately fell to the silver and golden band that sat on his ring finger; they widened.

"A-Aogami?" Touma stuttered, awkwardly, as Accelerator unenthusiastically plopped himself down into the closest chair. "Are you…"

"Engaged, Kami-yan!" Etsu proudly proclaimed. Touma's lips parted. Then, his jaw dropped, as Etsu began to laugh heartily, despite the obvious tension in the room. "You should've seen Seiri's face, Kami-yan! It was GREAT! The sex was even better! That glorious bosom, so big, so sweaty. So…"

Touma shook his head, swiftly, from side to side, as if to clear it of some invisible, excess gunk that was clogging it. "Aogami! Hold it right there! I'm a married man! I don't want to hear about that! Well, shit, dude. Had, uh, no idea. Congratulations! Am I going to have to call her Aogami-sensei, now?"

"Aihana-sensei, baby," Misaki reminded, with a small giggle.

"Oh. Yeah, that's right. Okay, this is going to take some getting used to. Aihana Etsu and Aihana Seiri? Sounds… really good, actually. Not calling you, by, you know, "Aogami" is going to be a hard habit to break," Touma confessed, as he awkwardly rubbed his neck with his available hand.

It was as if, meeting with Aihana Etsu again, despite the disgustingly synthetic feel of this place, was bringing a sense of normalcy back to Kamijou Touma. His wife seemed to be experiencing the same effect; her lips had curled into a small smile.

"Aihana-san, if you do not mind my asking, what happened to your eye?" Misaki inquired. She sat herself down next to her husband, two seats away from Accelerator. Misaki sat next to Kakine Teitoku's beetle, who she smiled at, and proceeded to gently pat with her bare hand, as the adorable creature produced soft, friendly vocalizations. Touma took his wife's available hand he took back into his own. Holding it as tightly as he could without causing Misaki any discomfort, he watched as Mikoto sat herself down, closer to Touma than to Accelerator, who simply grunted in response.

"He got too gutsy," Sogiita Gunha spoke. As Touma, Misaki, and Mikoto, all at once, noticed the outfit he wore, their collective eyes widened, slightly. Kakine Teitoku's beetle turned its head to face Gunha, as if it was doing what was appropriate. Its big, harmless-looking, dull jaws clacked together excitedly.

Gunha's hair was dyed red, and was spiked. A bright red shirt adorned her chest, red, and white striped shorts, which were made of a soft-looking fabric adorned his legs. Sogiita Gunha also wore a pair of high top, red basketball shoes, with a rising sun logo on either shoe. This outfit, in and of itself, would have been completely normal; it was the long, red cape that he wore that caught the quartet's attention. Accelerator either hadn't noticed it, couldn't be bothered to look, or didn't care.

Etsu folded his arms, and chuckled. "Chill, Kami-yan. You can be married and have eyes for other women! As long as you don't touch them, you're fine! Eheheheh. Long story, Mrs. Kami-yan. Tsuchimikado dared me. I'll save you the explanation, and just say that the stripper pole I bought is going to waste… infinite sadness! That wasn't what did it; I tried to, uh, get a little bit of that Forehead Deluxe, after Seiri shot down the pole idea… it didn't work out. I've been sleeping on the couch for the last three days! I'm so frustrated! Thought getting out of the house would do us both some good."

Accelerator clicked his tongue. "Fucking idiot. It's your goddamn fault for being a fucking pervert."

Kakine Teitoku's beetle looked up to Misaki, and tilted its head.

"Hello, little one. How are you? How is Kakine-san?" Misaki asked. The little creation rose up from its sitting position, round legs clacking against its chair as it began to move. Crawling into Kamijou Misaki's lap, it set itself back down, folding its legs beneath it.

"Beetle zero-six is doing well, auntie! Daddy sent me here to gather information for him, while he and beetle zero-seven are out helping people! Yay, information-gathering!" The beetle answered. Touma reached his left hand over to the little creation, and stroked its head; it began to make a sound that was oddly similar to a cat's purring.

"Yeah, okay, Aogam… Aihana. Know what? You'll always be Aogami to me… oh, man, beetle zero-six, it's… it's actually really cute," Touma said softly, as he showed affection towards the little creature. From Misaki's lap, it rose up, and made its way to Touma's. Setting itself down, it turned its head to face Touma, and clacked its jaws happily, as its compound eyes looked into Touma's dark eyes.

"Uncle is kind! Kind like daddy!" The beetle chirped. "Maybe uncle will be kind, and give beetle zero-six and zero-seven more friends? Yay, friends! Auntie and uncle love each other! More friends!"

Kamijou Touma frowned, as Misaki quickly took his left hand in her own hands. Kamijou Misaki placed it in her lap, and, uncurling her husband's left hand's fingers, she placed her own finger to his palm. She began to trace small, gentle circles on its surface, as she looked to her lap, and to her husband's hand.

The beetle, an innocent, naïve little creation, was none the wiser, as Mikoto, who had thus far been unusually quiet, placed a hand on Touma's shoulder. Turning to the Railgun, Touma offered her a grin. It was pained, and weak, but it was a grin.

"Hero?" Accelerator inquired. He tilted his head in Touma's direction.

"Yo, Kami-yan, you feeling alright?" Etsu inquired. He knew the answer. Etsu was no fool; "Aogami Pierce" was a fool, but Etsu wasn't.

"Kami-yan is anything but alright. Fuck this City."

Sogiita Gunha had casted his gaze outwards, towards the dutifully-working Tsugutoshi. The elderly man's fingers clacked quickly against the keys of his small laptop, eyes darting from side to side, as he occasionally ran his tongue over his lower lip.

"Guys, it's cool. I'm good. Why wouldn't I be good? Beetle zero-six just asked me a question, is all. No big deal right? Sorry, buddy. Uncle got distracted," Touma spoke. Beetle zero-six clacked its jaws excitedly at Touma. "Maybe someday. Maybe someday, you and beetle zero-seven will have… new… friends." Touma gulped, before he forced himself into a state of faux-excitement. "There's a lot of important, grown-up stuff that goes into making new friends! So, be patient, buddy! Auntie and uncle have a lot of work to do, before they can start thinking about making friends for you, right, Auntie Misaki?"

Touma turned to face his wife, who continued to run her fingers over the palm of her husband's left hand. She looked up to him, and offered him a weak smile. With her starry eyes growing moist, she kissed her beloved on the cheek. He suffered. Kamijou Misaki could see it in his eyes, the pain that she'd seen before was amplified, Misaki could feel it radiating from her husband's form. Kamijou Touma was anguished.

Apparently, his wife wasn't the only one who'd picked up on the aura which Touma was producing. Tsugutoshi gently closed his laptop, folded his hands, and placed them on the round desk.

"Ahem. I've received word, informing me that we are to begin our meeting earlier than expected. You have my appreciation, and the appreciation of the Director," Tsugutoshi began. "You also have my apologies. The mess upstairs was the result of an… unfortunate encounter, between Academy City forces, and the forces of a rogue party; a party who is the subject of this meeting."

"Get to the fucking point," Accelerator demanded. Leaning forward in his throne, the number one strongest esper raised an eyebrow in Tsugutoshi's direction.

Aihana Etsu cupped his chin in his fingers, and leaned back. "Gotta say, I'm with Accel-chan, here," the number six spoke, before his brow furrowed. "Let's speed this up."

Mikoto, Gunha, Misaki and Touma exchanged awkward looks with one another. Though Tsugutoshi's facial expression remained as one of passiveness, it was clear to see that a vein had begun to throb in his upper forehead. With a deep breath, he continued.

"Very well," Tsugutoshi began anew. "Some of you who are present this afternoon, may or may not know of the body enhancement drug known as "GROWTH".

Kamijou Misaki's lips curled into a frown, knowingly. She, her husband, and Misaka Mikoto each shared similar, concerned looks. Misaki leaned her head against her husband's shoulder, lazily. She was suddenly feeling quite drained. Misaki just wanted to slumber, with her husband close by, preferably in her arms.

"It began circulating some years before the… previous Director's… time in office came to a close. With many thanks to our City's intelligence-gathering agents, I will present to you the truth of GROWTH, the truth of one of the greatest threats Academy City faces… be warned, some of these images are… quite graphic."

Tsugutoshi fiddled with one of the sheets of paper spread out before him, and fingers placed in the center of the sheet, he moved it towards the center of the round desk.

Kamijou Misaki leaned forward, to get a better view; she found herself wishing that she hadn't. The existence, or what Misaki assumed was an existence, of some type, displayed in the black and white photograph was horrifying for her to look upon. It appeared to be little more than a mound of messy, pink and dark purple flesh.

Bones of various shapes and sizes protruded from the putrid-looking mound. In the lower center, were a pair of wide, bloodshot eyes. Disproportionate limbs hung limp from the mound; two arms, three legs, and what appeared to be an elongated phallus. Attached to the arms, and legs, were large, boil-covered hands and feet. The photograph appeared to have been taken in a laboratory setting; the wallpaper behind the mound was grey, and sterile, just as everything else in Academy City seemed to be.

"Baby, don't look. Misaka-san… I wouldn't recommend looking, either," Misaki spoke, as she awkwardly pushed the sheet of paper away from her. Touma, taking his wife's advice, didn't look directly down at the sheet, and moved it away from him as quickly as he could.

Beetle zero-six climbed up to the table's surface, and quickly began to examine the photograph on the sheet of paper. "Oh no! Tell daddy!" It exclaimed, before it crawled back to its chair, and seemed to go into a state of dormancy, as it set itself down, folding its round legs beneath its body. Its compound eyes began to blink, on and off, at a consistent rate of a blink every second.

"If we're going to be involving ourselves in this mess, or, if we're being forced to involve ourselves," Mikoto shot Tsugutoshi a hateful glare, "I'd rather know ahead of time what I'm going to be fighting against. Thanks, though, Kamijou-san, for the heads-up."

Mikoto looked down at the sheet of paper, and her eyes widened. She placed a hand to her forehead, and, leaning her elbow against the round desk's surface, she pushed the sheet away with her available left hand. "Wish I hadn't looked."

Accelerator snatched the paper, and pulled it in his direction. He raised an eyebrow, and then clicked his tongue. "What the fuck is this? These things can fight? What the fuck would it do, roll itself at me? Good fucking luck."

The number one ranked esper passed the sheet off to Aihana Etsu, who held it up to the light. With his eyes still closed, he held the sheet of paper away from him, and appeared to be studying it. "Gotta say, I'm with Accel-chan on this. It looks like some dude's nuts with a bad STD, or something. Can't see how it can hurt anyone."

Etsu passed the sheet of paper to Gunha, who looked it up and down, and then uncharacteristically frowned, as he pushed the paper back towards Tsugutoshi. Wordlessly, he sat upright in his chair, arms crossed on the desk's surface.

The elderly man collected the sheet, and exchanged it for another, nearby sheet, with a photograph that was larger in size than the first on it.

"It is, or, at this point, likely was what the Director, and my betters believe to be a failure. Subsequent images depict something of an evolution from this specimen; for the sake of time, and for convenience, I will summarize.

"Obtained specimens, from this point forward, began to appear more and more humanlike, and less like… lumps. The second most recent specimen that intelligence agents have discovered, are, in fact, very similar to those involved in the carnage you unfortunately witnessed above, with minor aesthetic differences in the newest specimens, that we've only just discovered this morning."

Touma felt his heart jump into his throat. His skin was becoming oddly cold, as the right side of his chest began to pound, faster and faster. "Those things… torn up. People? People. Didn't save them. Too late. Always too late."

Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun, chose to speak up. Quietly clearing her throat, she leaned forward in her seat. "So, GROWTH is a body-altering drug? Aside from making the people who are either forced to ingest it, or are injected with it… mutate, do you know what the purpose of this GROWTH is? Is it just an attempt at forcing mutations?"

"Regeneration; those affected by GROWTH, according to various studies, and further experimentation based on the, results, of the aforementioned studies, lose their higher mind, their human self-knowing. They become animalistic in nature. Those who retain any knowledge of proper speech seem to exist in a perpetual state of agitation, cursing, and uttering threats to anyone around them. With their seemingly unrestrained regenerative abilities, those affected by GROWTH become... something beyond human," Tsugutoshi spoke grimly.

Sogiita Gunha rose up from his seat, and threw his fist into the air. Accelerator rolled his eyes, as he prepared himself for the worst.

"Who's making this… this GROWTH?! They lack GUTS! I'll personally show them the power of GUTS, and what happens when those who have guts deliver justice upon those who don't!"

Aihana Etsu began to clap, as he flashed Sogiita Gunha an approving grin. "Atta boy! You tell 'em, Guts Man!"

Accelerator groaned, as he massaged his temples with his index finger and thumb. "Fuck. Just shut the fuck up. You're so goddamn annoying, both you and the fucking pervert. If I could spend a week in fucking isolation with the third ranked, to never have to see either of you asshats again, I would gladly fucking do so."

Touma turned to Accelerator, and raised an eyebrow. "Accel, come on. I'm pissed off, too, but we can't start turning on each other. Besides, I think… I think you're going to have outlets for your frustration soon enough."

Looking to Accelerator, Misaki smiled weakly at him. "Accelerator, it is okay to get angry, but, to lash out at those around you is not the answer."

Surprisingly, to all of those involved, Accelerator nodded weakly, as he looked to his lap. His crimson eyes stared, focused on the floor beneath him. "Yeah. I know. I'm fucking sorry, okay, sixth ranked? Seventh ranked? I lost my temper. I was wrong."

Etsu shrugged, and winked at the "top dog" of Academy City. "Chillax! It's cool, Accel-chan! It happens! When this is all over, I'll take you out to the Gloryhole, and we'll…"

"FUCK OFF!"

Etsu chuckled to himself, as Gunha sat himself back in his seat, and extended a fist towards Accelerator, as if to ask for Accelerator to bump his own fist against his. "No worries! Your guts will see you through, I'm sure of it! Your guts rival even my own!"

Misaki leaned towards her husband, and whispered into his ear. After a few seconds of her whispering, she moved away from him, but not before kissing him softly on the cheek. Touma moved towards Mikoto, and leaned in. Mikoto moved her ear towards Touma's mouth, as he approached.

"Misaka? You feeling okay? You've been pretty quiet. Anything you want to talk to us, or one of us about, when we get out of here, we'll listen."

Misaka Mikoto smirked. It was small, weak, and died soon after it was born, her lips curling back into a neutral frown, but, it was something. "It's nothing that can really be talked about, I promise, Touma. Just this situation, Academy City, you know?"

Kamijou Touma nodded. He knew all too well what Misaka Mikoto was feeling. He had to agree that there really wasn't a whole lot that could be done to talk this issue out. For Kamijou Touma, for his wife, and for these people around him, all of whom, with the exception of the elderly man who had brought them here, were his close friends, this meeting couldn't go any slower, and couldn't be any more depressing, or tenuous.


	27. A Certain Awakening III

With everything having settled back into relative peace, Kaizumi Tsugutoshi loudly cleared his throat, and clicked his fingernails against the surface of his laptop.

"I'm afraid there is more yet to speak of, before our meeting concludes. If you could do so, I would ask that you… restrain yourselves, and ask questions only when necessary. Time, was, is, and, always will be of the essence, sirs and madams," Tsugutoshi spoke. It was only his devotion to Kumokawa Seria, the knowledge that he was helping the woman he owed so much to, that kept his own slowly flaring temper in check.

"Whatever. Nobody said you had to fucking stop," Accelerator remarked.

"In all fairness, Accel, Kaizumi-san couldn't really talk over you, Aogam… Etsu, and Sogiita-san," Touma retorted. "Come on. If we've got differences that need to be settled, we can settle them after the meeting. How does that sound?"

Accelerator clicked his tongue, but didn't protest. "Fucking hero."

"Heh… I can see it, hero. I bet your wife can see it, too. You're getting a bit antsy. Can't say I blame you. This old man's some fuck."

With a frustrated sigh, Tsugutoshi continued from where he'd left off. "We are anything but aware of how this regeneration function actually works. A researcher from… overseas, has postulated that GROWTH causes the human body's natural regenerative process' speed to increase by, at the very least, five hundred percent.

"This, however, doesn't explain certain phenomenon exhibited by the bodies of those who've been affected by GROWTH, such as the ability for detached limbs to resemble, seemingly by themselves. The closest the aforementioned researcher has come to a solid theory is the idea that the cells of a detached limb can "rejoin" with their sister cells in the affected individual's main body by somehow, through some unknown means, becoming airborne; in her "laymen's terms explanation", she compared it to a magnet attracting a magnetisable object."

Mikoto, in particular, nodded in understanding. Everyone present, even Tsugutoshi himself, knew that, if anyone knew about magnetisation, and how it worked, it was the Railgun. As if Mikoto could somehow detect this knowing, she spoke up.

"A magnetisable object, huh…?" Mikoto raised her hand to her chin, and, cupping it, she looked to the ceiling. Kamijou Misaki, Kamijou Touma, and beetle zero-six turned to face her. Etsu shifted his eyes in her direction, while Accelerator bounced his leg up and down. Sogiita Gunha looked straight ahead, fingers intertwined. His face betrayed the fact that the seventh ranked level five was in a state of deep thought.

"What if someone was to put something in the way? If I put a big sheet of cardboard between a magnet, and a magnetisable object, or metal, or any substance, really, the object wouldn't be able to make its way to the magnet. I mean, I don't really see a practical application for something like that, in this situation, but, it's all I've got…"

Mikoto's eyes widened, slightly, as she opened her left palm, and, curling her right hand into a fist, she crashed her right against her left. "What if their bodies posses some sort of passive magnetic field?! The cells, in theory, if they were manipulated, could travel, magnetically, from one part of a GROWTH victim's body to another, if such a thing was true! If that's the case, I... I, or any other electromaster, really, could interrupt this magnetic field with our own interference!" Mikoto exclaimed.

For the first time in their meeting, and, for the first time in a long time, outside of his meetings with Kumokawa Seria, Kaizumi Tsugutoshi smiled, as he folded his hands, and rolled his shoulders. "It would be a theory worth putting to the test, Misaka-san. Is there anyone else who has any ideas?"

Touma awkwardly raised a hand, as his wife looked to him. Touma looked to her, and she smiled, as warmly as she could in his direction. Kamijou Touma looked deeply into Kamijou Misaki's big, bright starry eyes; as he did so, he could practically feel the confidence being poured into his very being. His arm straightened out, as he smiled back at his beloved.

"Kamijou-san," Tsugutoshi spoke.

"My, uh… my hand does funny things, sometimes. It can stop things, and I…"

Tsugutoshi closed his eyes, before he interrupted Touma. "I know a fair bit about your hand, Kamijou-san. No need to try and dance around the topic at… excuse the pun, hand. We plan to put it to good use…"

Touma shifted his eyes in Misaki's direction; his wife's facial expression was one of suspicion. With an eyebrow raised, slightly, and her starry eyes had narrowed Misaki crossed one leg over the other, and appeared to be slowly, and cautiously reaching towards her purse, before she suddenly stopped herself.

"Really?" Touma inquired, almost sarcastically. "I'd never have guessed, Kaizumi-san. What I was trying to get at, was, if I was to touch one of these GROWTH victims, then, wouldn't the mutation, or whatever it is, be negated? Would that… kill them?"

"I bet that's what you're after. You just want to kill these GROWTH people, and be done with it. Fuck trying to find a way to cure them; killing them is quick, efficient, cost-effective. You people are unbearable."

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi nodded; though he wasn't aware of it, Kamijou Misaki was eying him, sizing him up, digging as deeply into his mind, without the use of her ability, as she could. She could see guilt in his facial expression, like he'd been caught in a lie. Misaki began clicking the pieces into place.

"This was your little plan all along, Kumokawa-SAN? Forcibly dragging my husband and I, and our friends, into your war? Exploiting the curse bestowed upon my husband, the love of my life? You sicken me. You… how much does this advisor of yours know?! Can he even be trusted?! Can YOU even be trusted, anymore?

I know this is not your fault. I just… Kumokawa-san, you could have just… told us. I know you can be trusted. You are one of those few who can be trusted. I will not allow myself to fall back into that… paranoia. That is in the past. Thinking in a paranoid way, is the way in which "Shokuhou Misaki" would think. I am "Shokuhou Misaki" no longer."

"That's correct, at least, I assume it would be; I am aware that there are certain parameters, under which your hand functions…" Kaizumi Tsugutoshi began, but, his speech slowly faded, as Kamijou Touma swiftly rose up, to his full, imposing height. The shadow he cast over Tsugutoshi's much smaller frame alone made the elderly man sink back, ever so slightly. Touma's eyebrows arched, as his brow furrowed, and his lips curled into a scowl of disdain. The fingers of his right hand twitched, awkwardly.

"Eheheh. Heheheh. Ha! Haha! HA! Here I was, lecturing everyone else, as usual, pushing my stupid fucking morals on everyone, and, here I am, now, seeing exactly why everyone's so fucking pissed. You and "the Director" seem to be aware of a lot of things, Kaizumi-san. "Put me to use" Kaizumi-san? Like I'm some sort of object? Dragging my wife, the only fucking thing I have, my whole fucking WORLD, the one source of my happiness, into this shit, YOUR shit? You've done a lot of preparing… but, did you prepare for THIS?! I'll shatter that fucked up illusion of yours!"

Touma, like a savage beast, unleashed a terrible, rage-filled roar, as he moved to lunge across the desk, muscular legs arching, as his terrible, thick arms were spread apart. Aihana Etsu's eyes nearly opened; Kamijou Touma looked like he was poised to tear the elderly man apart with his bare hands. In an instant, Kamijou Misaki had leapt up, and forcibly pulled her husband back, away from the desk. Binding his arms behind his back with her own, she was easily a match for him in every aspect. Accelerator rose not long after, standing between Tsugutoshi and the raging Touma.

"Hero, sit your fucking ass back down," Accelerator commanded. "What the fuck were you just saying, about us turning on one another? Get a goddamn grip!"

"Or what?!" Touma angrily shouted, causing Misaki to start. There was such force in it. It was such a booming, impossibly terrifying, foreign sound. Misaki wasn't used to it. Kamijou Misaki knew it wasn't aimed at her; she knew it wasn't aimed at anyone. She knew that Touma was raging, looking for a safe outlet; any outlet that wasn't her. Softly, she laid a single kiss on his neck, and nuzzled him, as she continued to hold him back. "What will you do, huh, Accel? Are you on this fucking snake's side, now? After all we've fucking been through?!"

Accelerator flicked his choker on, as he stared Kamijou Touma down, through his snow white bangs, crimson eyes locking with Touma's own dark, bloodshot orbs. "I'll fucking stop you, if your wife can't keep you in check. I'll save you from yourself, just like how you saved me, hero. I'll fucking shatter YOUR illusions."

"Kami-yan," Etsu stated; he, Sogiita Gunha, and Misaka Mikoto had all risen up, while beetle zero-six was clacking in terror, as its eyes rapidly flashed. "Get yourself under control. Where'd all that patience go, man? You were doing really good. What happened? Something changed. What was it? Tell us."

Touma grinned, as his head dropped. "You're really in a position to be asking questions, aren't you, mister "I'm going to pretend to be someone I'm not for goddamn years"? You're lucky I'd never even think about harming the woman who's got me in a hold, right now, or you'd get hit. You'd both fucking get hit… heh. She'd totally kick my ass, if I tried… which I never would! Never! I… fuck… I wouldn't hit you, either, either of you… clowns. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Kamijou-san," Gunha spoke, as he took a step forward. "We're not here to hurt you. We're your friends, and we want to help you! Remember, back when we helped Misaka?! You've got to be brave! Where're those guts? I know they're in there! Show them to me, Kamijou-san! SHOW ME YOUR GUTS!"

Touma's fury was beginning to fade, its hold on his mind faltering, as Misaki continually whispered into his ear. "Touma? It is okay. It is all going to be okay. I love you. I love you so much, my everything, my sunshine. You are kind, you are fair, and you are without rival. You are my husband, my best friend, the core of my world, and I adore you more than anything in this world, or any other. I am so lucky to be your wife. I love you, Kamijou Touma. I, Kamijou Misaki… my soul is bound to your own."

Mikoto could stand idle no longer. Stepping up, she threw her left hand outwards, index finger pointed in Kamijou Touma's direction. Her face had grown red, and, from the corners of her eyes, tears began to well up. The Railgun's body was shaking; her arms, especially her left vibrated, as did her legs.

"Y… you… you listen to me, Kamijou Touma! You fucking LISTEN to me!" Mikoto roared, finger still pointing. "This is not YOU! Snap out of it! You're better than this! Are you going to let yourself become everything you've fought for so long against?!"

Tears were openly pouring down Misaka Mikoto's cheeks, as her lips curled into a frown. "Please, Touma… please calm down. This isn't you. You're a… a kind man, a loving husband to a b-beautiful… woman. I know you're angry, so am I, we… we all are; but we have to make the best of this situation, of what we have in Academy City. You know that better than anyone here. Breath, Touma, and just… calm down. Nobody has to be… h-hurt."

Memories flooded through Kamijou Touma's mind; memories of Misaka Mikoto, transformed into some unspeakable horror beyond the comprehensions of most. Memories of eight, enormous dragons, flooding out from him, completely destroying that illusion, tearing it apart.

The same eight dragons that could be both Kamijou Touma's salvation, and his doom. He didn't know how many were truly in there; his entire body could be filled with hundreds, or thousands of invisible, yet, somehow, visible dragons, for all he knew.

The thought of the snarling things jumping hungrily from his own body, to that of a faceless newborn child, cursing them to a life of suffering and misfortune for the duration of their life passed through Touma's mind, and certainly not for the first time. Touma felt himself becoming weaker.

"Misaka-san is right, my love," Misaki whispered, as her own chin buckled. "You are a gentle, kind-hearted man. I know you are angry, frustrated… I know how helpless this all makes you feel. I am not angry with you, I promise, my love. I understand what you are experiencing. I know you would not have harmed Kaizumi-san, but I had to hold you back, regardless. I understand, so, so much, my prince."

The anger, the resentment, the desperation that had been pumped into Touma's veins, the negativity that had strengthened him, that had carried him this far began to dissipate, despite his own thoughts. Kamijou Misaki's words broke through the darkness, like stabbing blades of holy light. Kamijou Touma could feel himself growing weaker, and weaker, with every second that ticked by. Touma's legs began to shake, before they gave way. Kamijou Misaki allowed herself to sink to the floor with her weakened husband. Wrapping her arms around his waist, around his monstrously powerful barrel chest, she sat her chin on his shoulder.

"T-Touma…?" Mikoto inquired. She'd lowered her arm, as she began to awkwardly stumble forward. A frowning Accelerator flicked his choker off, as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Mi… Misaki? Misaki, beautiful? Misaki?" Touma weakly spoke.

"Yes, baby, I am right here! Baby, I love you, I will never leave. I will never leave your side. Ever," Misaki replied, as she cupped her husband's left cheek in her left hand, and kissed his right. "Touma, baby, my sunshine, nothing will hurt you, so long as I am here. I will never allow it. Never."

Touma struggled to get himself to his feet, body shaking, as Misaki moved to assist her husband. Misaki's muscled arms tightened, as she pulled Touma to his feet, with one mighty tug. "Sorry, Misaki… I love you. I love you so much, more than anything… I… I adore you. I want to hold you. I didn't mean to. Sorry… all of you. Need… to apologize. To Kaizumi-san."

"You're not staying here, hero," Accelerator snapped. "Look at you. You're a fucking mess. You need some water, or something, and some alone time with your wife. Go, talk to her. You'll feel better. Third ranked and I will tell you all you need to know, when this shit's over. That's a goddamn order."

"Accel, man…" Touma muttered. "Mikoto. Etsu… Gunha. I'm… I'm sorry. I just… I snapped. Something happened to me."

"Kami-yan, Accel-chan's right," Etsu stated. "We'll tell you, and we'll tell Mrs. Kami-yan what's up, when this thing's done. You need to talk this out with your ladyfriend; she's gonna make everything feel better for you, and you know it. Besides," Etsu quickly approached Touma's shaking form, and wrapped an arm around Touma's shoulder. "You might get a sympathy fuck!"

Touma shook his head, as his lips curled into a small, but noticeable grin. "Fuck off, "Aogami…" I mean, Etsu."

Beetle zero-six leapt down from its seat, round legs clacking against the sterile floors. It raised its head to look up to Misaki and Touma. Its tiny jaws clacked together, as it tilted its raised head from side to side. "Daddy's coming to help, too! Beetle zero-seven is going to keep fighting the baddies! Yay, fighting the baddies!"

Kamijou Touma crouched down, and ran the palm of his left hand over the little creation. "That's… that's nice. It'll be good to see your daddy again. I'm sorry, buddy, about… what happened. Uncle got a little bit mad, that's all." Rising up, Touma made his way over to Kaizumi Tsugutoshi, who appeared to be intently typing something into the keyboard of his laptop, which had evidently been opened at some point.

"Kaizumi-sa…"

Before Kamijou Touma could speak another word, the elderly man had taken Touma into an embrace; though Tsugutoshi was considerably smaller than Touma was, he did his best to wrap his arms fully around Touma's form.

"It's alright, Kamijou-san. It's alright. These are hard times for each and every one of us…" Tsugutoshi's voice dropped to a whisper. "Lean down, Kamijou-san. Ear to my lips, please."

Touma did so, carefully attempting to inconspicuously lower himself to Tsugutoshi's height. Touma noticed that Tsugutoshi possessed something of an oddly pleasant "old person smell". Touma likened the scent to a mix of freshly made cookies, and some sort of old timey fragrance.

"If you can't find it in your heart to aid me, find it in your heart to aid Seria. Seria needs your help. She needs all of our help. She is trying hard – harder than I could even put into words, to keep Academy City stable."

Touma's brow furrowed. "I… I know that. I know Seria is; but… why did she do this, Tsugutoshi? How much does she know about… Imagine Breaker? I guess that's a… a stupid question. I can't expect you to answer that second part, and, S-Seria did this so that the level fives, including my… my w-wife… would show up. Otherwise, they never would, right? Mugino still didn't… I hope nothing happened to her. I'm sorry, again, for lashing out at you."

As the two men parted, Tsugutoshi shook his head. "You need not worry about it. Seria would like to see you and yours, sooner than later. She… she wishes to explain everything, herself. I don't know when such a meeting might be made possible, but… yes. I thought you should know, Kamijou-san."

Kamijou Touma quickly walked back to where his wife stood, away from the desk, where she was waiting for him, as she always did, and always would. Kamijou Misaki smiled at him as best as she could, especially when he took her into his arms, and held her close, as closely as he possibly could, while also ensuring that she remained comfortable.

"Beautiful…? Could we try and just… finish this thing?" Touma inquired. "If you want to, of course... I'm not really in any position to be making any sort of, you know… d-demands. Look at the shit I just pulled."

Misaki took her husband's hand into her own, as the two broke their embrace; Misaki kissed the top of it. "Please, Touma, everything… stop belittling yourself. If that is what you are comfortable with doing, I will see this meeting through with you. Please, whenever the chance presents itself to us, do not hesitate to talk to me. I will listen, baby, I will always listen. I understand what happened to you – sometimes, the anger is too much. It… sometimes, everything has nowhere to go but out. I know that, if I was not present, you would not have harmed Kaizumi… -san."

Touma didn't have a reply that was sufficient, not in the moment, at least. Instead of vocalizing his feelings, and risking breaking down into tears, an emotional response that was becoming all too common for his own liking, Kamijou Touma leaned in, and placed a gentle kiss to Kamijou Misaki's forehead.

As the couple turned back towards the round desk, where Accelerator, Misaka Mikoto, Sogiita Gunha, and Aihana Etsu had taken their seats, the head of Academy City's "top dog" craned in their direction.

"Hero? What the fuck did I tell you? Get out of here. You're not feeling well, so, don't be a goddamn idiot. The second ranked can get you the fuck out of here."

Touma sat himself down, as Misaki took her seat next to him. She took the palm of his hand in her own hands, and began, once again, to create small, gentle circles on its surface with her own fingers. "Accel… it's cool. I'm… I'm alright. If this is… how things are going to be, I might as well buck the fuck up, and get used to it. Do you know how tired I am of running, and hiding?

"After that underground mall attack, something I wasn't even present for… because I was running away… I could've lost everything, Accel. I didn't, thank… not God, whatever, thank the stars, I guess, but, I could've. I'm sick of running."

Accelerator clicked his tongue, but didn't verbally respond, before he turned away from Touma. Mikoto, who sat next to Touma, patted him on the shoulder, before she leaned her head against him. Touma placed his available hand on top of Mikoto's head, and gently ran his fingers through her chestnut brown locks. Misaki looked up, and, eyes falling on the sight, she smiled, just a little bit more. Ten years ago, she would've been absolutely fuming, and she knew it – there was an irony in the odd tranquility that had formed in this chaotic time. Misaka Mikoto was just another member of the family.

"Hey, biribiri," Touma softly spoke. Mikoto gently hit him.

"Don't call me that," Mikoto stated. "Touma, I need to apologize, too. I didn't mean to yell at you. I just wanted you to snap out of that… that rage. You're one of my best friends. I love you, both you and Misaki more than you'll ever know, and… I just want to see Misaki and you happy."

"We love you too, Misaka-san." Kamijou Misaki spoke, quietly, as Kaizumi Tsugutoshi, Accelerator, and Aihana Etsu continued to speak at length; Mikoto kept one ear open. Among words and phrases which she didn't know the context of, Mikoto heard a name that was familiar to her; too familiar. "Kihara". Sogiita Gunha sat, looking up at the ceiling, still uncharacteristically silent.

"Kihara? What about a Kihara, or, Kiharas?" Mikoto inquired, as she turned her attention to those who were speaking.

"Heh… third ranked. Are you sure you want to know? Heard a lot of rumors, but, never really thought about it too much," Accelerator replied, cryptically.

Mikoto moved away from Kamijou Touma's shoulder, and leaned forward, brown eyes looking up, and into Accelerator's own crimson eyes. As Accelerator, the "top dog" of Academy City looked down at her, an unusual chill ran down his spine. Looking down at Misaka Mikoto, the third strongest esper in Academy City, she who'd been cloned twenty thousand times, looked far too much like her Sisters. Accelerator had looked down on them, before, oftentimes literally, before he destroyed them, like they were trash, like they were less than him. As Last Order's smiling, blushing face, and then Worst's idiotic, grinning mug appeared in his mind's eye, Accelerator was pummeled by the memories, and the guilt that walked hand in hand with them; they threatened to overwhelm Accelerator, and, subsequently, he looked away.

"Who is it? Whose son? Is it… is it his son? Kihara… Amata's?" Mikoto inquired, to which Accelerator grunted, and nodded his head.

"Yeah, third ranked… him. How'd you guess? I'd heard, through the rumor mill, that he had a son. Never thought it was true, but, if all this GROWTH bullshit is happening because of him, it makes sense. Fucking son's just as goddamn evil as his father. I'll send his fucking spawn into the atmosphere, just like I did to his father, third ranked."

"Kihara who?" Touma asked, as he, like Mikoto leaned forward, his head craned to face Accelerator. Misaki continued to form circles in her husband's hand, though, she, too had leaned forward, starry eyes looking into Accelerator's.

"A… "Kihara Gunpei", supposedly, the fucking son of Kihara… Amata," Accelerator accidentally snapped. He didn't intend his reply to be so aggressive, and, in his subsequent continuation of his statement, Accelerator softened his tone. "He was the one who… fucked with Kazakiri. This shit started with him, and I thought it would've ended with him, too. I bet that piece of goddamn dung is dancing in a pool of lava, in fucking Hell, looking up at Academy City, and laughing his ass off."

Misaki's facial expression turned to one of disgust. Kamijou Misaki remembered it all; Hound Dog, Index, Misaka Mikoto; she'd been there, throughout that horrible night, standing with those she'd cared for. It'd been quite the way to spend her first few days as Kamijou Touma's girlfriend. If anything, it had been a sign of things to come, for Shokuhou Misaki, as she was known then.

Etsu chuckled, as he shook his head, arms folded across his chest. "Kiharas? They're still up to their shit? Thought they would've run away years after everything started falling apart."

"Quite the contrary," Kaizumi Tsugutoshi spoke. "Academy City's state allows that dreaded family to play, as if they were children in a sandbox, without so much as a single guardian to watch over them. If someone does not step in, and… dispose of them…"

"Then, let's begin, Kaizumi-san. Let the eradication of the Kihara menace begin. Such termites, pests who consume the framework of the world around them, can't be saved; only destroyed."

All heads turned towards the tube-like structure, from which the quartet had previously entered. Walking calmly, and casually, down the staircase was a white man.

His long, shoulder-length hair was white, and, in his eye sockets, two glowing, green orbs sat. His skin was completely white, as were the clothes he wore. The white man's form was clad in a wrinkleless, tight-fitting formal suit. Around his neck, he wore a tie, which, like most of his form, was completely white. Accompanying his suit, and matching his body's coloration, were pointed dress shoes, that clicked against the staircase beneath him as he walked. Each click echoed throughout the chamber, so all-consuming was the silence that had descended.

"Kakine-san," Misaki remarked, politely. "Hello. It is good to see you again. I wish that the circumstances of our meeting weren't so dire."

Touma awkwardly raised a hand; he knew why Kakine Teitoku was here. Despite the fact that the second ranked level five wore a sympathetic facial expression, Touma still had, for reasons that were very much known to him, a feeling that he was in some sort of trouble. This odd feeling was similar to the one that overtook him, whenever he had accidentally made Tsukuyomi Komoe cry, when he'd been her student. "H-hey, T-Teitoku."

"Warmest greetings, Kamijou Misaki, Kamijou Touma. A shame that we cannot be meeting under lighter circumstances, indeed, Misaki," Teitoku remarked. "The scary" has come to an end, I take it?"

"All done, daddy!" Beetle zero-six happily proclaimed, jaws clacking away. "The scary didn't last long! Yay! All done!"

"You may take your leave, then, if you'd like to; your brother will watch over you, while I take up your position. I'm very grateful for your assistance, beetle zero-six," Teitoku spoke, hand outstretched. Beetle zero-six immediately flicked its shell apart, as translucent, swiftly-beating wings emerged. The little creation took flight, and flew onto Kakine Teitoku's outstretched arm.

"Beetle zero-seven says that he doesn't want to have to take care of "that brat". Who is that brat, daddy? Will we be getting friends?! Yay, friends! They'll hold us over, until aunt and uncle give us more friends!" Beetle zero-six exclaimed.

Teitoku smirked, as he shook his head. "Tell him he's taking care of "that brat", or he's going to be in big trouble. Could you pass that message on, please?"

"Okay, daddy!" Beetle zero-six spoke, with great enthusiasm in its tone of voice. Shell spreading, and wings beating against the air, beetle zero-six took flight again. Before it took its leave, beetle zero-six turned to the round desk, and those who sat around it. "Goodbye, friends, aunt and uncle! Maybe see you soon? Yay, maybe soon!"

As beetle zero-six swiftly flew into, and then travelled up the tube-like structure, Kakine Teitoku took a seat at the round desk, next to Sogiita Gunha, who greeted him with a firm handshake, and a proclamation of "no guts, no glory!"

"I'm concerned for your well-being, Touma," Kakine Teitoku spoke. "I don't mean to interrupt…"

"Interruptions have become commonplace, in this meeting; the irony of my own interruption isn't lost upon me. Do not mishear me; these are dark times, and, in times like these, tempers flair, this I understand. It is best that these issues are being talked out, I suppose," Kaizumi Tsugutoshi remarked.

With a nod, Teitoku continued. "Beetle zero-six briefly described the scenario, which I was fortunate enough not to witness. How do you feel, Touma? Tell us the truth. You can trust everyone here; even Kaizumi-san. He answers to an honorable wom- individual."

"I don't want to become the focus of this thing," Touma spoke. Misaki gripped her husband's hand tightly. "I'm not important, here. I'm just… here. There're way more important things; from what I can gather, everything we have is at stake. My own feelings aren't anywhere near as important as that.

"I just lost control of my own emotions, and I flipped out. Misaki had my back… heh, literally and figuratively, the whole time, like she… like she always has. I know why I'm here – I'm just Kamijou Touma, just a husband to the perfect woman, someone, who, someday, if everything falls into place, would like to be a father, if at all possible. That's all. I'm just a level zero. I'm only here because I would do anything to protect this woman," Touma motioned towards Kamijou Misaki, whose starry eyes looked into his, as they began to fill with tears.

"I… understand, Touma. Should you not seek to involve yourself further in these affairs, I can assist yourself, and your wife, by providing you with an impenetrable shelter of Dark Matter. No bullet, no blade, no esper ability could pierce it. The interior could be crafted to your liking; necessities could be delivered to you on a regular basis. If…"

Touma shook his head, as he reluctantly looked away from his wife, and to Kakine Teitoku. Sogiita Gunha, as well as Teitoku himself, looked back. Accelerator had risen up from his seat, and had taken to the side of Kaizumi Tsugutoshi. The Director's advisor, and the "top dog" of Academy City seemed to be quietly bickering back and forth, as Mikoto and Etsu watched on.

"I'm tired of sitting idly by, Teitoku. I'm tired of knowing that people are constantly… dying, or being kidnapped, or hurt, while I just tune it all out. How many people have died, because I wasn't there to… to save them?" Touma practically demanded.

"I know things aren't how they used to be; I can't just go… running off in the middle of the night, shattering illusions and saving people. I never would. I couldn't, I couldn't physically do it. I love Misaki too much, she's my number one priority. I could never hurt her like that; but… you're our friends. You all are. I don't want to watch you walk off to face some… something. Some unknown threat. We didn't run away and hide, when that… that monster in the Windowless Building needed to be stopped, did we? If we did, what would've happened? Would we have lost? He was untouchable, Teitoku! It was only those things in this, this stupid, fucking, cursed hand that… that finished it. What if we need them again?"

"We find ourselves in agreement, everything," Kamijou Misaki spoke up, once her husband's short explanation had come to a close. She could hold back no longer. She agreed; she agreed completely, and wholeheartedly, with Kamijou Touma's words. "We have both been hiding for too long. Misaka-san, and I… we… something unspeakable nearly happened to both of us. We were there, when the underground mall was attacked, when so many innocent people had their lives taken from them."

Accelerator raised an eyebrow in Misaki's direction; Tsugutoshi turned to face the number one ranked esper in Academy City, and nodded his head, once.

"You can tell them what I told you, fifth ranked. The sixth ranked knows enough to understand, at least the basics of this shit," Accelerator stated, before his vision's focus returned to Tsugutoshi's laptop. "Someone will have to catch the seventh ranked up."

"The attacker, or attackers, responsible may very well be involved with… with magic," Misaki hesitantly explained.

"Magic?! Bunny-pulling, top hat-spinning magicians?!" Aihana Etsu proclaimed aloud, seemingly flabbergasted. "So, someone's not content with just pretending to saw through their assistant? Now they want to really saw through people?! With explosives?!"

"There's a lot more to it than that, let me fucking tell you, man," Touma grumbled. "Magic's fucked. It needs to be destroyed, wiped out, wiped straight from any history books that even mention it."

Mikoto looked to Touma, and, patting his shoulder, she smiled awkwardly. Before she retrieved her hand, she gently tugged on his ear. "Magic is, for lack of a better word… fucked, I get that, but… keep it calm, Touma."

"I wouldn't be one to disagree, Kamijou-san," Tsugutoshi spoke in response. "This meeting can conclude, shortly, though I will have to summarize some points." "Thank God."

Touma nodded, as Misaki wrapped her arms, as best as she could, around her frustrated husband's waist. With his arm placed lovingly around his wife's form, Touma cast Kaizumi Tsugutoshi a guilty look. "Yeah… I sort of fucked everything up. No, I did fuck everything up. Seems to be one of my talents."

"Baby, it is okay. I promise it is okay. You did not mean to lash out, there was no malice in your actions. Your restraint wavered, and, that is okay. I love you, Touma. Please stop blaming yourself," Misaki whispered softly.

Touma sighed, as Misaki snuggled closer. "Yeah. Okay. I'll try… for you. I love you too, beautiful. So much."

"Snap out of it, hero. It's over, what's done is done, fucking drop it," Accelerator snapped, as his crimson eyes looked into Touma's. "You always let this shit eat at you. It's not a goddamn big deal. You're a fucking human being, you had a moment. You got pissed. You know often I get fucking pissed? How often we all do?"

Etsu waved his hand, as he leaned back in his seat, and produced a loud, obnoxious yawn. "C'moonn. Let's get this shit over with. Accel-chan's getting grumpy. He needs his sweet little loli in his arms."

"What the fuck did you just fucking say to me? Do you want to die, sixth ranked?" Accelerator demanded.

Etsu broke down in a fit of laughter; Sogiita Gunha rested his head in his hands, and grumbled incoherently to himself, as Kakine Teitoku patted the number seven on the back. Misaka Mikoto looked about, from side to side, rather awkwardly.

"Ahem!" Tsugutoshi caused all things in the room to fall to silence. Etsu wiped the tears from his closed eyes, as he settled himself down. The Kamijous were, ironically, given Touma's earlier outburst, among the most well-behaved individuals in the room. Touma sat quietly, running the fingers of his right hand through his wife's hair, as she hummed a quiet, barely audible tune to him, her eyes closed.

Mikoto tried her best to keep her attention on Tsugutoshi, but, she found herself having a hard time to look away from the Kamijous. "They're just so precious. I love them. I love them both. I want to cuddle up with Kuroko again, soon. I miss Kuroko. I love Kuroko, just as much."

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi began to speak, as all eyes, and, in Misaki's case, her ears, became focused on him. "GROWTH, in and of itself, will not be stopped, unless the facilities that are actively producing, and distributing it are… permanently shut down. Fortunately, shutting each and every facility down is nowhere near as monumental of a task as it might seem; Dark Matter," Tsugutoshi turned his attention to Kakine Teitoku, who nodded politely, and offered him a small, thin smirk. "Here, has eyes just about everywhere. If I might be frank, Dark Matter's surveillance system is, essentially, a far less nefarious UNDER_LINE Network. I suppose I should let you do the rest, Dark Matter. This was, in the beginning, your plan, after all."

Teitoku folded his hands, and placed them on the round desk. He cast his vision over each of his compatriots, smiling, as it passed over the relaxed Kamijous.

"Beetle zero-six, beetle zero-seven, and the newest member of our family, beetle zero-eight, as well as myself, have been making moves against as many GROWTH facilities as we've been able to; the "OFFICER" Network has been more of a hindrance than a help, unfortunately; due to… complicated matters, especially in regards to my own existence, and the nonexistence of the Predecessor, I can't simply create an army. Zero-six, zero-seven, and zero-eight are my family, not my… servants. I love them, as any parent loves their children, and, if I was to create too many, I wouldn't be able to realistically show them the affection they, as living beings, rightfully deserve."

Those around Kakine Teitoku either nodded, or smiled in understanding, especially the Kamijous. Accelerator, who began to return to his seat, offered Teitoku an uncharacteristically sympathetic look.

"My Airborne Observer Units have pinpointed most, if not all smaller preparation and distribution facilities; given enough time, we can reasonably knock them out of service, and destroy the GROWTH within. This much, my family and I can handle alone. What we can't handle, however, is mobilization against a certain location. To lay siege to it ourselves would be foolish. It's a fortified stronghold, under the command of parties that, even to my Observer Units, are unknown, in school district nineteen. It is a great, nigh-impregnable fortress, of twisted steel and concrete.

"Great numbers of armored vehicles enter, and leave this location each and every day; the same armored vehicles that are used to transfer GROWTH throughout Academy City, especially through school district ten. This criminal den is somehow tied to the GROWTH epidemic, and, it's clearly very important to the parties involved with GROWTH; scores of heavily armed guards, equipped with what allies of ours recognized to be Academy City weaponry designed before the previous Director's untimely demise, anti-esper technology scattered around each and every corner, plastered on every surface. Assaulting it alone would be a nightmare for my family and I."

Accelerator clicked his tongue, as he folded his arms. "So. We have a fucking target, then. Fine by me. Is that all? This is the big fucking "final battle?" I'll slaughter them all, like the goddamn trash they are. If they're involved with a Kihara, any fucking Kihara, they deserve to die."

"Accel, with all due respect… Teitoku just finished explaining that, at this place, they've got anti-esper technology. No matter how powerful you might be, you're still an esper, man. Even with your choker, your calculations can still be disabled. We might have to think outside the box," Touma spoke.

To his surprise, Accelerator didn't flare up. Academy City's "top dog" only characteristically grumbled, as he bounced his leg up and down. "Tch. You don't think I know? Didn't say I was going to use my abilities, hero."

Misaka Mikoto leaned forward, resting her arms against the desk; Aihana Etsu's eyes shifted in his head, as the Railgun's bosom bounced, due to the movement. With a quick shake of his head, the number six returned his vision to the face of Kaizumi Tsugutoshi. "You see what you do to me, when you take your body away from me, Seiri? You're KILLING me! When we're married, this crap better stop! Such misfortune! Have I been struck with Kami Disease?! At least the misfortune part?! Take your stupid sickness back, Kami-yan! I want to get laid again!"

"I can handle electronics, technology, anything like that. No problem," Mikoto stated. "I mean, any electromaster could!"

Sogiita Gunha's fists met the surface of the round desk; Kamijou Misaki started, as her grip on her husband's waist instinctually tightened. Mikoto's hands leapt into the air, as an odd shiver ran down her spine. Kamijou Touma turned his vision to Sogiita Gunha. The number seven's facial expression was one of determination. His lips had curled into a wide, confident smirk.

"I'm ready to show these people, whoever they are, the power of true guts; they clearly lack any sort of guts! Even having fake, prosthetic guts is better than having no guts at all! They could at least pretend, yet, they don't! I, the Extraordinary Guts Man, will show these guts-less villains the true meaning of PAIN!"

Accelerator rubbed his temples with his index and middle fingers, as he shook his head. "Any words of wisdom, sixth ranked? We all know, you always have something very fucking enlightening to say."

"Well, firstly," Aihana Etsu began, "I want Kami-yan to take his stupid disease back. I think I caught it. Secondly, it's been a… heck, a very long time since I last opened my eyes. This old dog's learned some new tricks! I'd like to try them out, you know, on something other than common thugs."

Mikoto, whose hands had fallen back into her lap, shuddered awkwardly, despite herself, and despite the fact that she knew she could easily overpower Restraint Control. "Please don't open your eyes. Please, please don't do it. It's… it's not nice to see."

"Don't talk shit about my eyes, biribiri!" Etsu proclaimed.

"Don't you go calling me biribi- that name!" Mikoto yelled back, as sparks jumped from the top of her head, and from her shoulders.

Accelerator shrugged, as Etsu and Mikoto began to pipe down. He could tell that Kaizumi Tsugutoshi was about ready for a nap. "I'm in. I was in as soon as this shit started affecting the brats. I'm personally. Fucking. Invested. I won't stop until every last one of these assclowns fucking drop."

Kakine Teitoku rose up from his seat, and bowed politely before Kaizumi Tsugutoshi. Slightly taken aback, the elderly man responded in kind. It'd been a long time since anyone'd ever bowed to him, especially so respectfully. "My family and I will do our best to support the cause, by continuing to take down preparation and distribution centers. We'll keep you informed, Kaizumi-san."

With that, the second strongest esper in Academy City began to take his leave. Stuffing his right hand into the pocket of his pants, he offered a friendly wave to his compatriots, all of whom either waved, or nodded back. Kamijou Misaki had looked up, smiling thinly, and waving to Kakine Teitoku, who had smiled back. Six great, white wings of Dark Matter emerged from his back; each grew greater in width as the seconds passed. By the time all six were fully developed, they each easily reached ten feet in width. With a series of flaps of his wings, he'd taken to the air, and steered himself through the tube-like structure that lead back to the surface.

Misaka Mikoto, who'd turned away from Aihana Etsu, breathed a sigh; Misaki could tell that it was one of frustration, and of contempt. Misaki understood what her once-rival was experiencing. If clinging to her husband's didn't negate all negativity that attempted to invade her mind, Misaki would be feeling similar frustration.

"If this is the way that we're going to ensure the safety of the people in Academy City, our loved ones… my loved one… then count me in. If doing this is going to put an end to the gangs, and to the kidnapping, and the killing… then I'll help. The darkness of Academy City needs to be lit up, and, I guess, as it always has, and… probably always will… it falls to us, the level fives, the strongest. When our government can just barely keep itself alive, when Academy City's "enforcers of the law" kill more people than they protect… maybe, we need to learn to protect ourselves. I'm in, too. I just want Academy City to be a livable place."

Most heads, with the exception of Kaizumi Tsugutoshi's, turned to Kamijou Misaki and Kamijou Touma; they knew they were expected to be the next to say "yay" or "nay" in this de facto headcount. Misaki rose up, slowly retrieving her arms, before she quickly retook her husband's hands in her own, as if she was afraid to let him go.

Kamijou Misaki's starry eyes looked into those of Kamijou Touma. His dark eyes stared back, as he smiled at his wife. Touma's grip on his beloved's hands tightened, just enough to make him feel more comfortable with everything around him, but not nearly enough to cause Misaki any sort of discomfort.

"Baby? Would you like to take our leave, temporarily? We could move some distance away, and speak, before we come to a final decision, as everyone else seems to have done," Misaki offered. She smiled her best smile for her husband.

Touma shook his head. "I want everyone in this room to know just how much you mean to me; even if they already know, I want to remind them. I want them to know exactly what it is I'm fighting for, what I'd do anything for. I want to help our friends… these people we'd both do anything for…"

Everything, it seemed, was pushed away from the married couple. Consumed by the tranquil, invisible sphere of their paradise, the married couple focused solely on one another. Misaki nodded in affirmation, as she leaned forward.

"You do not need to wait for my confirmation, my love, my everything, my sunshine. I would do anything for these people, our friends. I would yet do so much more for you… I can admit it. The many types of love are unique, and different to each other, but, the holiest of loves, the most honest, tender of loves… is the love we share. The love I would kill, steal, lie, and destroy for. There is nothing I would not do, to protect you, my sunshine, and to protect this marriage that we both so greatly value… Kamijou Touma, I am listening. I will always listen. My ears are always open for you, as are my eyes."

Touma looked deeply into his wife's eyes, as he leaned closer, and closer, the world outside their sphere of paradise being completely phased out. "You… you said everything that I could've said, and more, beautiful. I'm tired of running, tired of hiding… the way I see it? Something's going to come for us, whether it's from one "Side", or the other. Why keep running, when we can turn around, and fucking smash the thing that's chasing us? I have… God, I have so many questions, about all of this; but I don't think a lot of them can really be answered. Not right now. Maybe, Ser- the Director, can tell us more, if we ever… meet them, w-whoever they are. If this is a decision you're ready to make… if you think that, somehow, we can save Academy City, with the help of these people, these people that we love so dearly, then, it's a decision that I'm ready to make.

"All I know that I want to live in a safe place with you. If I have to fight, and kill, and commit the most grievous of terrible sins to have our paradise on earth, just us, together… fuck, I'm just sitting here, looking at you, and I'm just falling more and more in love with you. You're so insanely beautiful. If I have to, I'll destroy anything, kill anyone, to make our paradise on earth… a lasting, permanent paradise, possible. I want to be able to walk down the street with you, show you off to the world, arm in arm… safely. I want safety for us. For our marriage."

Touma tilted his head to one side, as Misaki smiled.

"You ready, beautiful? You ready to stop running, and fix everything? You ready to help our friends? You ready to fight, so that we can take our lives back? Our home back? We're going to fix all the problems in Academy City, but, I'll only do this if you say yes. I want this to be our decision. Not "mine"."

Misaki nodded, slowly. As the sphere of the Kamijous' paradise began to dissipate, Misaki's starry eyes shifted, inside of her head, as her vision turned to those who were around the round desk. Accelerator's hands were stuffed into the front pocket of his sweater, as he stared down at his lap. Mikoto faced the couple, watching them, observing them. The Railgun's hands sat elegantly in her lap, clasped.

When Misaki's eyes locked with Mikoto's own, the Railgun tilted her head, and smirked. She nodded, as if to say, "I'm with you". Etsu had produced his phone, and appeared to be typing up a message, rather swiftly, fingers tapping the device's tempered glass touchscreen at a rapid pace. There was something of a determined expression on his gruff face, wrinkled brow furrowed. Sogiita Gunha had leaned back in his seat, sitting casually, as he looked off towards the sterile, white reflective walls of the chamber. Though he remained oddly, uncharacteristically quiet, he didn't appear to be perturbed. If anything, he wore a curious facial expression.

With a swift inhalation, Kamijou Misaki spoke. "Yes, Kamijou Touma. If you are ready, then I am ready. The time for running, and for hiding, has come to an end. All that has occurred within less than the span of two weeks is… shocking, to say the absolute least about the scenario at hand. It feels as if what has always been here is just now lashing out at us, with more power than ever before. If we run, and hide, as we have for so long… who is to say that this will not hunt us down, with even greater ferocity? I know, I am fully aware that it seems… idiotic, to personify, and persecute the chaos of this City. I would not disagree. I am ready to take back our life… I want the peace we never had. I am ready to seek out our paradise."

"Tch. Keep us waiting any fucking longer, why don't you?" Accelerator grumbled. He was grinning, and, in his grumble, there was audible mirth. The Kamijous smiled back at him. "Don't think this shit's going to be a big deal. You've got the top fucking dog."

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi began organizing his papers, assembling them into a neat, orderly pile, and, as he closed his laptop, he rose up from his seat, with some effort. Folding his arms behind his back, the elderly man addressed those who sat before him.

"Then, it's settled. Operation: Motherlode is officially underway. The Director is preparing to mobilize all available units, which… being frank… isn't much.

"Still, we will do our best to aid you in this operation. Kakine-san is scheduled to have the equipment necessary for this operation assembled sooner than later, likely within the day, if all goes well; you are, of course, welcome to use the equipment as you see fit, or, in the case of the Accelerator, Sogiita-san, and Aihana-san, you are also welcome to… not use it. I will leave the strategizing in your hands, more specifically, in the hands of Kamijou-san."

Misaki looked up, knowingly. Just how much did Kaizumi Tsugutoshi know? Misaki had been the "brain" of she and Touma's "adventures", though Misaki could hardly call them that – they were much less of a series of adventures, and more of a series of unfortunate events.

"However you should decide to tackle this operation, I wish you nothing but success. I would recommend staying together. Drifting apart could potentially lead to the stalling of the operation's completion, and…"

"We fucking get it," Accelerator snapped, interrupting Tsugutoshi. The "top dog" of Academy City forcibly rose from his seat, causing the throne-like chair to fall back. Crashing against the floor with a loud, startling thud, Accelerator stormed off. "We'll get the shit done. You and that coward of a Director can rest fucking easy."

"I'm not picking that up. Kami-yan, you're the hero, here! Clean up after Accel-chan!" Etsu mockingly commanded, as he, too rose up, leaving the round desk behind.

Sogiita Gunha quickly got the chair back on its four legs, before he pushed it in, and then moved to follow Accelerator and Etsu, both of whom had already ascended the staircase. "Got it, Kamijou-san. Accelerator's a man of guts, to be certain, but… he might just be a little bit too gutsy. I never would've thought that I'd say that, but, here I am, saying it! I've got to make sure that I can keep my own guts in check."

Misaka Mikoto remained behind, with Kamijou Touma, and Kamijou Misaki, who, characteristically, tightly held hands, their fingers intertwined, as they began to move away from the round desk. Touma cast a glance back; Kaizumi Tsugutoshi appeared to be packing his papers, and his laptop into a wide, black briefcase, that he'd obviously retrieved from somewhere – Touma reasoned that it must've been beneath the desk.

"Wow… that's really all I've got. Just, wow. I feel like… like I just stood in the middle of a warzone. I honestly shouldn't've expected things to go smoothly. These people are hiding too much from us, and everyone's just way too on edge," Mikoto remarked, as the trio began to ascend the staircase.

Turning his attention to Mikoto, Touma shrugged, awkwardly, as they climbed. "Yeah. Everyone, well, almost everyone… Aogam— fuck, I mean, Etsu, why is it so hard for me to get his name right? Am I really this goddamn stupid? Fuck it, anyways, Etsu doesn't seem to be too on edge, but, he is pretty good at hiding things."

"Baby…" Misaki spoke softly.

"Damnit. Sorry. I know I said I'd try to… to knock this shit off. I'm sorry, beautiful," Touma replied. It was a weak vocalization, one which caused Misaki to grip onto Touma's hand with even greater force. Touma kissed the top of his wife's head, as the trio left the staircase behind them.

"My place. We need to stick somewhere safe. Everyone, even the fucking Kiharas, know better than to fuck with me." Accelerator turned his attention to Mikoto, whose brown eyes locked with Accelerator's own. "Third ranked. The brat with the black cat is there. She's been bunking with us for the last couple of days, since, uh… since the magic shit."

Mikoto smiled in Accelerator's direction; an unlikely action, indeed. Mikoto herself didn't seem to be the only one who was aware of it. Accelerator's crimson eyes looked to the floor. He could see his own reflection staring back up at him.

"Just how many of my Sisters are you going to take care of?"

"All of them, third ranked. As many of them as I can."

Mikoto sighed. "Accelerator… I really don't know what to say to you, anymore."

Aihana Etsu produced his phone from his pocket; the device was vibrating in his hand, three or four audible vibrations every second. Sliding his thumb over the device's touchscreen, to the right, he pressed it against his ear. "Meet you up there, Kami-yan, Mrs. Kami-yan and pals…" As Etsu turned his back, his voice dropped in volume. The platform descended to the bottom of the tube-like structure, and, Etsu stepped in. "Hey. Thanks for calling me back. Gonna be working just a bit later than I thought I was going to be… no, there's no reason for you to be sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry. Pierce got the better of me, clawed his way out. Wasn't right of me. So, listen…"

As the platform ascended, Aihana Etsu's words faded into obscurity.

"Misaka Imouto's still at your place, Accel? It'll be… good, if kind of weird, to see her again. Biri-sensei has grown up so much…" Touma spoke.

Electricity jumped from Misaka Mikoto's form, as she tried to restrain herself. She hated that name. "Biribiri" or any variation thereof just frustrated her. She bit her tongue, as a proclamation of "Idiot!" clambered to the end of it, demanding to be set free.

As the platform descended, yet again, the group approached. Accelerator was the first to step onto the platform, followed by Sogiita Gunha, Misaka Mikoto, and then the Kamijous. Once the group had boarded, the platform began to rise, as Kamijou Misaki clung to Kamijou Touma's arm. In her own hands, she gently massaged her husband's left hand, her head resting against his shoulder. Touma brushed his wife's bangs to the side, before he placed a gentle, loving kiss on her forehead, and, then, another, when pulling away with only a single kiss under his belt proved to be too challenging of a feat.

"Guys?" Mikoto asked, as she rolled her shoulders, and then shifted her weight from side to side.

"Oi, Misaka. May I take your order? How can I help you?" Touma inquired. Misaki stood up on her toes, and placed a soft kiss to her beloved's cheek. His "unique" sense of humor was coming back, at least. Misaki felt just a little bit better.

"We are listening, Misaka-san," Kamijou Misaki responded, as she returned to her normal stance.

"Tch. What is it, third ranked?" Accelerator spat, unenthusiastically.

"Yo, Misaka-san!" Gunha exclaimed; the group couldn't help but notice that he was, all of a sudden, behaving just a bit more characteristically. Touma chalked his previous, odd behavior, up to the tension of the meeting, an oppressive aura that they'd just left behind.

As the group stepped away from the platform, and out from the tube-like structure, rejoining Aihana Etsu, who no longer appeared to be on the phone, Mikoto began to speak. "Accelerator, Sogiita-san, I'll have to catch you two, and the pervert up, but… if we're actually doing something, if we actually have a solid plan, there're some people I can get to help us out, somehow. We'd have Kuroko's support, but, I don't really want to involve her in this…

"I know, in times like these, we need to keep our loved ones close, but, if anything ever happened to her… I guess she's not much safer working with Anti Skill. What I'm trying to say is… we found Uiharu… and she's involved in some deep stuff. Black projects, nobody is supposed to know about any of it. One of those black projects happens to be loose."

Turning her gaze to Misaka Mikoto, Kamijou Misaki's starry eyes widened. Touma cast an equally concerned glance in Mikoto's direction. Accelerator didn't look directly at Misaka Mikoto; instead, he continued to look directly ahead.

"Uiharu… which one of the flower brats was that? The one with just one flower? Or the other one, who had a whole bunch of them?" Accelerator inquired.

"The girl with just one flower was… is… Saten," Mikoto corrected, an unusual shudder running down her spine, as Saten Ruiko's name left her lips. "The other girl is Uiharu. Touma, Kamijou-san…"

Mikoto fell in between the fifth strongest level five, and the level zero. Touma leaned down, as Misaki placed her ear near Mikoto's lips, so that she could better hear the Railgun's voice.

"I'll explain everything, as best as I can, when we get to Accelerator's, but… Uiharu, and… some… other people… made that robot. Programmed it, made it, and… she's responsible for it being self-aware."

If Kamijou Misaki and Kamijou Touma's jaws could've physically opened enough, they would've both hit the floor. Mikoto stepped away, from between, them, and retook her position in the center of the group. Behind Accelerator, and Aihana Etsu.

"What shit are you keeping from us, third ranked?" Accelerator snapped. Etsu stretched his arms behind his head, as he flexed his back, and grinned.

"Accel-chan is getting so grumpy! Now I know why he wants us to congregate at his place; he needs to get his fix of loli-cuddling!" Etsu exclaimed, before he broke into a laughing fit, as Accelerator glared daggers at him, grinding his teeth, as he seethed.

"I'll fucking kill you, sixth ranked, if you don't shut the fuck up," Accelerator threatened.

"You have guts, to continually goad Accel-san, Aihana-san!" Gunha stated. "Your guts might just come to bite you in the butt, however! Knowing when to use your guts, and when to hold your guts in, are two very important skills!"

As Mikoto stuffed her hands into her shorts' pockets, the Kamijous looked to one another. They fell back, slightly, as the plate that blocked access to the surface world slid away, causing sunlight to invade the group's collective visions. Accelerator flicked his choker on, and reflected the sun's beams, as well as its annoying, blinding light away from him with a grunt of displeasure.

Once they'd left the metallic, wire-covered catacombs behind – the Kamijous hoped to leave the memory of their meeting behind, as well – the Kamijous fell back as far as they could, while still maintaining eye contact with their friends.

"I thought Uiharu-san was… missing? Did she just appear to Misaka-san? Did Shirai-san find her? I have so many questions that I wish to be answered sooner than later, husband. This is all so troubling," Misaki whispered, leaning in, so that her husband could, at least, decipher the words that she was speaking.

Touma produced an aggravated sigh, as he ran his thumb over the top of his wife's hand. Held protectively in Kamijou Touma's own, Kamijou Misaki's hand provided a source of comfort, as it always had, and always would. Touma brought Misaki's hand to his lips, and placed a soft, quick kiss to it.

"I know, beautiful. I thought something… who knows what it could've, or was, or… I thought Uiharu was missing, too. That's the conclusion everyone came to, at least. We need to find out more, I think. I'm sure Misaka will tell us, if we ask. She wouldn't have brought it up otherwise."

Misaki nodded, somewhat uncomfortably, as she and her husband turned the corner. While Accelerator, Etsu, and Gunha continued walking, some ways ahead of the married couple, Mikoto had evidently fallen back, and was waiting for them.

"Thought I'd hang back, so you didn't think we left you behind," Mikoto stated, lips curling into an uneasy smile.

"Thanks, Misaka. The faster we're out of here, and back in a… well, a relatively safer district, the better," Touma responded, with an appreciative nod in the Railgun's direction.

Misaki offered her once-rival the warmest smile that she could muster. "I agree completely, thank you, Misaka-san. The gesture is a kind one."

"Ugh. You know, I think, when we get back to Accelerator's, because, apparently, that's our… base, now? What are we, soldiers? Might as well be. Forgetting that, once we get there, I wanna say "hi" to my Sisters, and… I want to take a nap. I'm so fried," Mikoto complained, as she yawned, as if to emphasize her point. The garbled, louder than normal vocalizations that were produced made Touma chuckle, lightly. Though the sound was small, and the gesture a weak one, it was enough to make Kamijou Misaki smile just a little bit more, following the fading of the smile she'd offered to her once-rival.

The Mental Out user turned her vision to her husband's form, and, through her starry eyes, she soaked him up. She looked her husband, her sunshine, her everything, up and down. This was the man, the sole person she was fighting for. She was alive because of him. As much as Kamijou Misaki tried to tell herself that her friends were just as important as her husband, just as important as the idea of having their peace, their paradise, a permanent, stable, little slice of heaven, Misaki knew it wasn't true. Kamijou Touma, her other half, was beyond them all in his level of importance to her. She thought, maybe, that guilt should've blanketed her mind, yet, it didn't. This felt right. Her love for her husband was on a whole other level.

Misaki loved her friends, dearly; but she could never love anyone as much as she loved Kamijou Touma. It simply wasn't possible.

September 23rd, 2014. 3:41 PM.

"Gensei-Sama! I'm telling you; that was a good deal!" Kihara Gunpei exclaimed. "She was actually useless! No function! Pretty much just garbage!"

Behind Gunpei, who sat comfortably in his wheelchair, was Kihara Gensei, who pushed his paraplegic relative, bony hands wrapped around the device's handgrips. Two long, translucent tubes, which were attached to a large, metallic device that was securely strapped to Gensei's chest, its leather straps bound tightly around his form, trailed from behind Gensei, and, were inserted into either of his arms, through two, small, metallic circles that had become one with either of Gensei's inner arms. A thick-looking, viscus orange liquid travelled from the device, up through the tubes, and into directly into Gensei's bloodstream.

Gensei looked to be in much better condition than his relative; on his right temple, there was a large, splatter-like birthmark, which took up most of the right side of his forehead, though, it hadn't always done so. Still, it was benign. He walked tall, straight, and proud, his body producing a soft humming. Over his chest, he wore a long, dirtied lab coat, covered in stains of many colors; reds, browns, yellows, and shades of orange, for the most part, though what also appeared to be oil stained the coat, as well. His legs were clad in dark workpants, while his feet were protected by thick, metal-covered, and steel toe leather boots.

"Fine. Fine. I will trust your judgment; if you believed Enshuu to be an asset, you would not have sold her away. I know, however, that you can be… rash, at times. Especially when money is involved, and, as we know… as I know… Mental Out is not an ability to be squandered. Now! How, exactly, do you plan to get yourself down there, Gunpei-kun? If I am to abide by your plots, you are to abide by mine. D-3000 won't resurrect itself; D-3000 is the key, that has been cast aside for too long. Caution was made to be thrown to the wind. Sometimes, sacrifices are necessary, in order for success to be obtained."

Though Kihara Gunpei wanted nothing more than to slap his relative for his arrogance, the splatter-faced man had a point. Gunpei knew that the D-3000 wasn't quite as good at killing things, when compared with the D-001, but it had other talents that could be put to use. One sat, while the other stood, just above a metallic staircase that lead downwards, to the entrance of a large bunker. Gunpei couldn't see the entrance, but, he knew it to be a rusted thing, covered in dirt, worn from the elements, and plastered with graffiti, as everything in the heart of school district nineteen was.

"Prototypes are a pain, I know that, but, you're forgetting, we have Chiro. No problem. Chiro will fix D-3000 up, no problem, Gensei-Sama!" Gunpei exclaimed, almost feverishly. "Pick me up! You can do it, Gensei-Sama. I believe in you! By "I believe in you", I mean, if you don't pick me up, I'll have you killed," Gunpei snapped. "Chop, chop."

Gensei shook his head, as he produced a small, but mirthful chuckle. "You are certainly your father's son. Same sense of humor." Gensei moved to lift the wheelchair, but, Gunpei began to laugh, hysterically.

"W-wait… h-hold on a fucking second, hold the phones. This is breaking news. You were actually taking my seriously?! Holy FUCK, you're too good!" Gunpei exclaimed, as he leapt down from the wheelchair. Supporting what remained of his body with his arms, palms flat against the cracked asphalt beneath their feet, Gunpei turned to look to the road behind him.

"Looking for something, Gunpei-kun?" Kihara Gensei inquired, as he, too, turned to face the direction in which Gunpei had turned.

He and his relative were across from a ruined bus station, which stood vigil before an abandoned strip mall. The mall's parking lot was desolate, save for their long, black SUV, its asphalt surfaces invaded by tall, parched-looking weeds. The broken remnants of multiple Academy City janitorial robots, as well as the remains of OFFICER Network units were laid about, haphazardly. There was a total of five small shops, the names of which neither Kihara knew, along with what looked to have once been a movie theater; atop the wide structure's roof, was a weatherworn, faded statue of a film reel. The sign in the center of the mall's parking lot had been stripped of its surfaces, leaving it as little more than a naked tower of metal pointing up to the sky.

"Just wanted to make sure that nobody's seeing me like this… I hate this goddamn shit. They need to hurry up with working out our GROWTH. I want my legs back," Gunpei snapped, before he began to make his way down the stairs, leaving his wheelchair behind. Gensei trailed behind him, fluttering around Gunpei, concerned, like a fussy handmaid. The Kiharas descended down the twisting, circling stairwell, marching closer and closer towards the bunker. When both Gunpei and Gensei had made their way down into the dank, stinking, moss-covered pit, which the bunker's entrance sat in, Gunpei suddenly stopped.

"Going to be hard for me to punch in the code. It's… uh… it's… heh, the code, is… uh…"

"Out with it, Gunpei-kun."

Kihara Gunpei's brow furrowed, and his lips curled into a frown. His eyebrows arched. Gunpei could just barely contain his rage. "You'd better knock your shit off, Gensei-Sama. Are you looking for a fight? I might not have legs, but, you better believe I can kick your ass any day of the fucking week. The fucking password is "Yuiitsu", okay? There… I'm sorry! I didn't mean to snap at you, Gensei-Sama! But… y-you know how I… f-feel… about… h-h… her."

Gensei's right arm produced a soft humming, as he stepped closer to the small, glowing keypad that sat in the center of the bunker's tall, circular reinforced metallic door. Punching the letters into the keypad, carefully moving his left hand's index finger from key to key, the elderly man produced a sigh. From within the bunker, a loud, blaring storm alarm began to produce its cry, as the circular door was slowly beginning to be pulled away.

"Pathetic. Your offspring has failed, Amata-kun."

"You ought to leave well enough alone. Yuiitsu-chan is… beyond redemption," Gensei spoke, as softly as he could manage. The look on Gunpei's face was a pathetic one. He almost looked like some sort of grief-stricken mourner. His lips folded downwards, into a pout, his brow furrowed. Gunpei's throat had tightened, at the thought of her, the thought of her face, her eyes, her hair… her entire being. Kihara Yuiitsu, the woman he knew he was destined to be with, in the end.

Gunpei loudly cleared his throat, and spat a wad of phlegm and saliva onto the damp ground beneath his palms. "As hard as it might be for you, don't be a dumbass, Gensei-Sama. Yuiitsu knows who I am, and how much I love her. She always has. She's just… weighing her options, obviously. When I singlehandedly fix every glaring flaw that humanity suffers from, Yuiitsu won't have much of a choice, but to recognize true genius."

Both Kiharas took their steps into the bunker; though the circular door hadn't been fully pulled away, the two simply squeezed past it. Gensei turned away from Gunpei, and pressed his open palm against a large, rectangular, bright green button, which was set against the concrete wall. Upon being pushed in, the button's coloration changed from green, and then to red, as the circular door began to close behind them.

Illuminated only by sparsely-placed synthetic lights, that were mounted in the corroded, metallic ceilings, the bunker's concrete floors and walls were bathed in the sickly, dirty golden light. This particular hall had just about nothing in it; the rusted pipes that covered the ceilings didn't count as "equipment" to Kihara Gunpei, and, to Kihara Gensei, they weren't what he'd call an "asset"; this entire bunker had been a waste, and Gensei knew it.

An older woman turned the upcoming corner, and, standing in place, legs parted, she titled her head awkwardly to the side, observing the two Kiharas. Gensei looked down to Gunpei, who, unable to shrug, due to his means of locomotion, responded by raising an eyebrow at the elderly man. Clad in a lab coat that was shorter than Gensei's, the older woman's hair was tied up into a messy, unkempt bun. Her wide, green eyes appeared glossy, her pupils almost without life. Her wrinkled face was without emotion, her lips flattened into an expression of complete neutrality.

"Heeelllooooo Hikari!" Gunpei exclaimed.

"Dr. Hikari" continued to look on, at the two approaching Kiharas. In "her" monochrome vision, the two were unclothed, and examined, down to their very core. Numbers, letters, percentages, images of cells, and of screaming infants passed "her" vision by. Sixty percent water, at least, Kihara Gunpei was. Kihara Gensei was sickeningly close to ascending his own humanity. His bones weren't of collagen; they were of a metal. Supirium. Kihara Gensei was barely human.

A series of "POTENTIAL RESPONSES" appeared in "Dr. Hikari's" vision, temporarily blocking her view of the swiftly approaching Kiharas. "Her" special brain could handle everything, without so much as a single conscious input.

"POTENTIAL RESPONSES:

Hello. [OPTIMAL]

Goodbye. [17.8% RATE OF SUCCESS. NOT RECOMMENDED.]

I'm sick, and tired, of taking care of your stupid baby, while you're out on your "business trips", fucking that whore of a secretary! [NOT RECOMMENDED]

Верни мне моего ребенка.

Fuck you."

"Hello," spoke "Dr. Hikari".

"You feeling okay, Hikari?" Gunpei inquired. "You're giving me the stares, y'know. The stares. Creepy. You're not the woman I want to see staring at me."

As the duo passed "Dr. Hikari" by, Kihara Gensei smiled at "Dr. Hikari", who, in response, produced a small, toothy grin, as "she" turned "her" back to the bunker's closed door, and slowly began to follow behind them, high heels clicking against the floor.


	28. A Certain Reprisal

Kinuhata Saiai stood, unclothed, in a rather spacious shower, as warm water pelted her bare skin, relaxing her. The petite esper turned around, posterior facing the tiled wall, as she allowed the warm water to wash the cherry-scented shampoo from her hair. Aiding the water, by gently running her fingers over her scalp, Saiai shivered in pleasure, as she felt individual drips of water run down her neck.

Beneath Saiai's bare feet, the shower's floor was slip-resistant, made up of what felt like hundreds of tiny, dull plastic bumps. On either side of the shower's interior, there was a silver, metallic safety grab bar. In the center of either bar, was a vaguely hand-sized grip, which looked rough to the touch. The ceiling above Saiai's head was bright pink in coloration, which contrasted with the sterile, white tiles of the shower's interior. Directly behind Saiai, there was a metallic door, which had been painted to look like it had been crafted from wood. The door had been slid shut, and tightly locked, with a metallic hatch that Saiai had flipped into place.

Once the shampoo had been removed from her hair, taking the oil her body naturally produced, and the sweat away with it, Saiai turned, bosom facing the tiled wall, and allowed the warm water to drip down her breasts, and down her belly. She would've preferred the warm lips of a member of the opposite gender, but, Kinuhata Saiai would take what she could get.

For a while, the petite mercenary just stood there. Closing her eyes, Saiai sighed deeply, and surprisingly contentedly, as she listened to the sounds of the shower's warm water pelting the tile walls, and the bumpy, plastic floor of the shower. It was relaxing. For the first time, in a long time, Kinuhata Saiai felt truly relaxed, like she could fall asleep, tip back at any moment, and not concern herself with the physical consequences of doing so. She wouldn't, of course – there was too much money to me made. Saiai couldn't die just yet.

Eventually, after a considerable amount of time had passed, Saiai's hand wrapped around the shower's bright silver "hot" knob. Turning it clockwise, Saiai watched, listened, and felt, as the showerhead's stream of water slowed. Saiai then turned the "cold" knob counterclockwise, until the showerhead's stream of water ceased to be completely. Sliding the shower's door open, Saiai stepped over the edge of the shower's entrance, one dripping wet foot after another, and onto a bright pink, fluffy carpet that sat directly in front of the opened shower door.

The bathroom that Kinuhata Saiai had stepped into looked almost like something out of a little girl's fantasy home. The walls, and ceilings were bright pink in coloration, and were almost blinding, at first, to look upon. The bathroom wasn't particularly spacious, but, it was considerably larger than most of the bathrooms Saiai had in her many safehouses. There was a white, porcelain toilet, and a bright pink counter, which had a white, porcelain sink, with white faucets, and a white spout on it.

Above the sink was one small, dark red, wall-mounted cabinet, while, across from the bathroom door, on the opposite wall, there was an identical wall-mounted cabinet. Both cabinets had two small doors, which could be opened by pulling on a pink knob, in the center of either door. Atop the first wall-mounted cabinet, there was a collection of perfumes and deodorants. On top of the other, there was a collection of first aid supplies, such as a large, translucent plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol, a plastic bag that contained cotton balls, and a box of adhesive bandages. In front of the counter, and the bathroom's sink, there was another pink, fluffy carpet.

Standing guard, back pressed against the door, was Devastator. Its arms were folded across its chest, as it looked forward, bright yellow eyes focused on the cabinet directly in front of it, and the bright pink wall, which the cabinet was hung from.

"Hey, ro-man. Thanks for super staying with me. The guys in this place are creepy. I know they've all been perving over me, yuck," Saiai spoke, as she grabbed a fluffy, bright pink towel from the toilet seat, and wrapped it around her naked form.

The mechanical monstrosity shrugged its shoulders, as it moved away from the door, slightly. Its palm was still pressed against the door, with enough force to keep it closed, should any "interested" parties attempt to push it open. "Think nothing of it. You will need to assert your dominance over these… pigs, if you're ever to be left alone by them. These types will do just about anything to make a woman feel as if she's less than they are."

Saiai removed the towel from around her body, exposing her naked form to Devastator, who didn't even turn its head to look at her. Saiai ran the towel over her legs, and then over her feet, before she began to dry her arms. "I think you're the only one who won't super try and perv over me, ro-man. In fact, you're the first since my old coworkers to see me naked. I fuck randies with as much clothes on as I can; randies super don't deserve to see me like this. How does that super make you feel? You're like my boyfriend now, aren't you? My big, creepy metal boyfriend."

The machine tilted its head in Saiai's direction. The interior of Devastator's head whirred, as the plates where its face had once been attempted, and failed to form a facial expression. "I'm indifferent, Kinuhata Saiai. I couldn't care any less. Whether your flesh is clothed or unclothed, you're Kinuhata Saiai. How does that make you feel?"

It was Saiai's turn to shrug, after she'd finished drying her hair; it stood up on ends. "Beats all the weird guys who probably super want to cum in me. Ew." The petite esper almost looked like she'd been out in some sort of terrible windstorm. Dropping her towel to the white, tiled floors, and stepping towards the mirror, that was held above the bathroom's sink, mounted on the wall. Saiai checked herself out, as she moved to comb her hair. Before the brush could actually come into contact with Saiai's hair, she turned to Devastator, and raised an eyebrow. "You super don't think that "Lifeline" bitch had bugs, do you, ro-man?"

Devastator approached, and, taking the brush from Saiai, it raised the accessory to its line of vision. Devastator's vision zoomed, its round, glowing eyes shifting inside of its head, producing a loud whirring that irritated Saiai. Without its combat drivers, or, more importantly, without access to the data that would remain encrypted without them, it was unable to scan for insectoid lifeforms. Devastator's vision's magnification was enough. There were no foreign invaders in sight, even at the point of three hundred percent magnification.

"All clear. This brush, at least, is a bug-free zone," the machine stated, as it handed the brush back to the petite esper, who began to comb her messy, sticking up hair.

Returning to its post at the door, Devastator waited, for some time, while Saiai combed her hair. It took a lot longer than the machine had assumed it would've. She'd combed her hair downwards, straight, delicately, with careful precision that Devastator only seen used before by researchers gathered around operating tables. Combing her bangs to the side, Saiai finished her ritual by placing the comb down on the bathroom counter, and then washing her hands, lathering them with soap, as if the comb had dirtied the palms of her hands, and her fingers.

"You've got a lot of patience, ro-man. You super haven't complained at all, since we got here," Saiai remarked, as she wrapped her towel around her naked form, and began to walk towards the door. The machine pulled the door open, and stepped through, ducking beneath the frame in order to avoid hitting its head.

"I've been Autointeracting with you, Kinuhata Saiai; I'm actually quite busy, thinking, planning… hoping," Devastator remarked. "Have you noticed a difference?"

"Nope," Saiai responded. "You're still as super creepy as ever."

"Good," Devastator spoke, quietly, sounding more like it was speaking to itself, than to Saiai. "Good."

As woman and metallic monstrosity trekked out from the bathroom, Saiai cast her vision on the hallway that she'd entered; on her way here, she felt too disgusting to even bother examining her surroundings. With her body feeling clean, and her mind feeling refreshed, Saiai could get a better feeling for this strange, almost surreal room in school district ten's Reformatory. In this hallway that Saiai and "ro-man" found themselves in, the walls, like those of the bathroom's, were bright pink. The floors, however, were hardwood, shined to the point of perfection. The ceiling above the duo's respective heads was dark red in coloration.

Aside from the faux-wood bathroom door, there were two other doors in this hallway, both of which, like the bathroom door that was behind the duo, looked to be made of metal, that'd been painted, or designed, to look more like wood. One door was halfway open, while the other appeared to have been closed shut.

Having made their way down the hallway, the young woman and the metallic monstrosity walked into the living quarter of this out of place den. The living quarter was circular, in its design, and was made up of a "living room", in its center, and, to the east of the "living room", there was a small kitchen. There were no walls to disconnect the rooms in this living quarter; rather, the two rooms simply merged with one another.

The petite mercenary made her way to the singular, large leather seat. Saiai plopped down, allowing her towel to fall away from her as she did so. At the foot of the leather seat, there was yet another bright pink, fluffy carpet, which Saiai rested her feet on, sighing as she felt the softness beneath her. In front of the seat, there was a computer desk, with a fair amount of expensive-looking equipment. The computer's tower was quite large, its case colored jet black. On the left side of the case, there were a number of small grooves, from which the quiet whirring of what sounded like a fan could be heard. On the left side of the front of the tower's case, a small, white power button glowed.

A singular television screen, which couldn't have been any wider than forty inches stood on the desk, held up by a square-shaped stand. Sitting a few inches away from the television screen, to the screen's left, next to the tower, was a small, black mouse. To the mouse's right, there was a compact, square keyboard. Most of the letters on the keys had been worn away; only a few keys, including G, Y, H, and X remained intact. Snaking behind the computer, and behind the television screen, there were a series of cables, which were plugged into a series of extension cables. The extension cables ran all the way to the other side of the circular living quarter, near the quarter's entrance, and were plugged into a long, monolithic power bar, which was plugged into part of the den's only wall.

Sitting next to the desk, which the computer setup was placed upon, was a large wall unit, which had no wall to be set against. As Devastator began to investigate, it found that the wall unit's shelves were covered in various textbooks; biology, chemistry, physics, "An Introduction to Cybernetic Augmentation", and "Sixty Thousand Shades of White"; surely the latter wasn't an academic textbook. The metallic monstrosity shook its head in disapproval. "Sixty Thousand Shades of White? What kind of depraved pervert called this place home?"

"Ro-man, can you super fuck off for a bit?" Saiai inquired, as she pressed her finger to the television screen in front of her. As the television's screen faded from black, to white, with a large, bright red "LCA" logo in the screen's center, Devastator turned to the petite mercenary, and tilted its head to one side, causing its shoulders, and neck to whir loudly; Saiai cringed. In the relative silence of this place, the noises that Devastator's body produced were amplified far too much.

"I fucking need to shlick, okay? I super need fuck myself, and I want some privacy. It's super been a long week, and I've only gotten one cock in me," Saiai complained, to which Devastator emulated the sound of what it assumed a human being's vocalization of surprise would sound like. "Ooohhh."

"Yeah. Go beat up some of the pervs, or something, just super give me twenty minutes or so. Maybe that Lifeline had a toy, or something. I'll take a shower rod up my cunt, right about now, I'm super fucking horny," Saiai spoke. "Do we even super know if this place is Lifeline's?"

"Whose else could've used this place as a personal den?" Devastator rhetorically inquired. Saiai's best guess was about as good as its own. "I'll take my leave, then, and count myself glad that I'm not a sexually-charged human. By the way; don't try using a shower rod. You could slip, and impale yourself. Then I'd lose my employee of the month."

Saiai shook her head, as she began to type on the computer's keyboard. "Just super fuck off for a bit. I can't fuck myself with you standing around, and I super don't want tetanus, so, fucking you is out of the question. If I find a strap-on in here, I'll super stick it on you."

"How tempting," Devastator remarked, sarcastically, as it headed towards the door that lead out of the den. "Now that you're all settled in, I'll be going off to check on my… our, Supirium. It should be about ready to go. If not, well, I may be gone a bit longer than a mere twenty minutes. Regardless, I'll be back." Ducking beneath the door frame, Devastator allowed the door to close behind it, as it stepped out into the Reformatory proper.

Saiai rushed to the door, and locked the door, by sliding its bolt into place, from the right side on the door, to the right side of the wall which it was connected to. As much as she wanted to engage in no strings attached coitus with someone of the opposite gender, she wasn't in the mood to be tossed up, and passed between men – there was a time and place for everything, and this certainly wasn't the time for that. Practically running back to the leather seat, Kinuhata Saiai set herself down, and began to spread her legs, as she reached one hand up, slowly, towards her bosom. Her heart began to beat faster, desire rushing through her mind. Her opposite hand aimed for the sopping wet cavity between her legs.

"Why am I so wet? I guess I really do need a break. Wonder if that Lifeline bitch copped any good videos before she "passed away." Yeah… the look on her face. That was hot. Mmmff."

It was only when Saiai felt her fingers beginning to enter her body, that she heard movement. The soft shuffling, the small pitter-pattering of what Saiai could instinctually recognize as bare feet was being produced from a fair way behind her. Saiai's body whipped to the side, as her vision focused on the hallway behind the leather seat she was in. Clambering up, onto her knees, Saiai rested the palms of her hands against the backrest of the leather seat.

The closed door of the hallway burst open, as Saiai leapt, completely naked, over the backrest of the leather seat, fists raised up. Bouncing on her toes, Saiai licked her lips, as she prepared herself for a bloody brawl to the end. There was no trace of panic in Kinuhata Saiai's thoughts; she was looking forward to this, fantasizing. Would it be a group of men who had hid themselves in this den? Wild animals? The OFFICER Network, or Anti Skill agents, who'd been stationed here, waiting for the room's resident to return?

Saiai's smile began to fade, as, from the doorway, walking mechanically, like clockwork soldiers marching into a battle set up by a small child on the floor of their room, women walked. They were all completely naked, though, to Saiai's unease, they seemed to lack nipples, and, Saiai couldn't see any sort of visible genitals. Their bare feet slapped against the door, which laid, broken in half, on the hardwood floor. Some of them looked like the woman that Devastator had rescued, or so it said. Others looked similar, but healthier-looking. Their hair was shorter, and looked fluffy, like cotton candy. Chocolate-colored, their hair waved from side to side, as they walked, hands at their sides. Kinuhata Saiai didn't know it, but these women were all Mitsuari Ayus.

The Ayus marched in twos, in a perfect row. Thus far, from where Saiai stood, hands slowly beginning to fall back her sides, as she felt the beginnings of panic, some instinctual fear of the unknown tearing into her normally rational thought process, a total of six Mitsuari Ayus had emerged. Then, another two, and another, and another. There were twelve of them. Their eyes were blank, like they were nothing more than reanimated corpses.

Each of their lips were straightened into a look of complete indifference; unadulterated neutrality. Their eyes were milky, and completely white; the small army of women almost looked like they were blind.

Backing away, Saiai gripped the leather seat behind her. Kinuhata Saiai shrieked, and, with an Offense Armor-assisted toss, sent the piece of furniture surging through air. It travelled quickly, as if it was a small pebble that'd been tossed by an angered child. Before the piece of furniture had the chance to crash into the Mitsuari Ayus, the first of one of the Ayu duos broke into a sudden run, and barreled into the airborne piece of furniture, effectively skipping the middleman. The young woman, the emotionless Mitsuari Ayu, stumbled back from the impact, but only slightly. Saiai's eyes widened further, as she looked down at the Ayu's hands, and then to the shoulder that had struck the piece of furniture; the skin that had been stretched over the Ayu's knuckles was gone, torn away. The skin that had covered the Ayu's shoulder was completely missing.

Where skin had once been, there was dark, gooey-looking metal, which shimmered beneath the synthetic light beaming down from the ceiling of the den. The metal almost looked like liquid, which perpetually moved, yet, it wasn't dripping, or splashing as the Ayu walked. As the leather seat laid on the ground, cast aside, more Mitsuari Ayus were emerging from the entranceway, where the closed door had been broken down. Kinuhata Saiai gritted her teeth, as her brow furrowed.

"I'm super sick of all these robots! FUCK ROBOTS!"

Saiai rushed in, fists first, bare feet slapping against the floor. The petite esper threw her right fist towards the Mitsuari Ayu who approached her.

Time seemed to slow around Kinuhata Saiai, as her fist neared the face of the Mitsuari Ayu. Ayu, she, or it, continued to step forward, unconcerned by the fact that she, by all logic, was about to become the victim of quite the brutal assault.

What should've happened, was, the following; Kinuhata Saiai's fist should've crashed against the Ayu's face, shattering every bone that made up her facial structure, as her punch would've been empowered by her Offense Armor. The Mitsuari Ayu should've stumbled back, or fallen back, and hit the ground with a satisfying, glorious thud. Saiai should've been able to move onto the next, rinse and repeat, until this army of Ayus was nothing more than a pile of broken, metallic corpses.

Instead, the Mitsuari Ayu's face opened. It physically split open. The Ayu's mouth, nose, and eyes split, contorting, and stretching until they were unrecognizable masses of white, red, and pink. Saiai's facial expression turned from one of confident superiority to one of horror. The Ayu's face split apart, forming an enormous, gaping hole, from which dark grey liquid dripped. Kinuhata Saiai's fist travelled harmlessly through. Stepping back, the Ayu's face closed, producing a loud glopping sound.

The retaliatory blow that followed was lightning fast, practically a blur. The Ayu's fist connected with Saiai's face, as Saiai's fist rightfully should've connected with the Ayu's own face, as the other Ayus continued their death march. Stumbling, Saiai kept her footing, never surrendering, never giving up. The Ayu wouldn't relent; one blow followed another, and, even as Saiai raised her arms to her face, connecting them to form a makeshift shield, the blows didn't stop.

"Get out."

It was the first word spoken by any of the Mitsuari Ayus who'd taken to assailing Kinuhata Saiai. The vocalization was without emotion. It was as if the vocalization was spoke by some sort of soulless, thoughtless machine; even Devastator had some emotion on its voice, regardless of how synthetic, and mechanical it was. Saiai shuddered.

Beneath her Offense Armor, Saiai could feel legitimate, physical pain, like she was being stabbed. The Ayu never grew weaker, it never ceased, it never stopped. It didn't hesitate, and didn't even attempt to block Saiai's blows, when she actually found a moment to try and deliver one, or more than one. Whatever part of the Ayu's body that Saiai threw her fist at opened up, birthing an enormous hole, which would quickly close, as the Ayu stepped away.

Another Ayu, one which, upon closer inspection, looked completely identical to the woman that Devastator had claimed to have rescued, swiftly grabbed Saiai's left wrist. Saiai flung her neck back, and then tossed it forwards, with the intention of slamming her own forehead against the Ayu's face.

In one, swift motion, the Ayu had lifted the petite esper from the ground, and proceeded to throw her down to the cold, unforgiving floor. Saiai had never before experienced such a display of physical strength, and it'd been a while, since she'd felt quite that much pain; Kinuhata Saiai suddenly likened it to getting a taste of her own medicine.

The Ayu that'd been dodging Saiai's blows, and delivering its own, cupped its hands; the two extremities merged into one, a large, solid-looking, metallic ball, with a series of loud, disgusting glopping sounds, followed by what sounded like loud, almost painful-sounding cracking. The Ayu then brought the metallic ball down, with astounding swiftness, onto Kinuhata Saiai's face. Even through her Offense Armor, Saiai felt like her nose had been viciously bent to the side, and both of her cheeks were pushed inwards, as her eyes felt like they were going to burst out from their sockets; Saiai hoped her nose hadn't been broken. It didn't feel like it'd been broken, at least, Saiai didn't think so.

Picking herself up from the floor, Saiai backed herself up, away from the marching Mitsuari Ayus, blood rushing from her nostrils, dripping down her naked form, and onto the hardwood floor beneath her feet. Rushing towards the den's kitchen area, her heart beating a mile a minute, her thoughts swimming, her mind screaming at her in panic that was barely being reigned in, Saiai wrapped her right hand around the handle of the large, silver refrigerator's door, and lifted the entire refrigerator above her head, like it weighed nothing at all.

With a scream of primordial fury, eyes wide, and bloodshot, Kinuhata Saiai brought the refrigerator down upon the nearest Mitsuari Ayu – the Ayu's eyes didn't widen; how could they've widened? She, or it, barely had eyes at all. The Ayu didn't even stop moving. There was no hesitation, not a moment of second thought.

Squuuiiissshhhhhhh. The sound was disgusting; Saiai nearly vomited.

From beneath the refrigerator, what looked like liquid metal began to seep. Saiai assumed she'd killed the Ayu, and moved to lift the refrigerator to strike down the next.

But she hadn't. The liquid metal, or what looked like dark grey water, Saiai couldn't be sure what it was, for certain, was quickening in its movement. From beneath the refrigerator, the liquid pooled on either side, until, suddenly, both puddles rose up, with a loud series of splashing sounds that caused the tense Kinuhata Saiai to start. The puddles became one, but, what began to form, as the puddles leapt into one another wasn't a young woman with chocolate-colored hair, or even a broken-looking young woman with bright silver hair, covered in wounds.

It almost looked like the silhouette of a human being. It lacked a face, and any sort of features that could distinguish it as something that was actually a living thing.

With a series of cracking sounds, that sickened Kinuhata Saiai, for reasons that were beyond her higher mind's understanding, the liquid being was liquid no longer; it became solid, a featureless, solid machine. In its solid form, the being possessed four defined fingers, and a thumb, on either of its hands. On either of its feet, it possessed five toes, four of which were the exact same length as one another. The first on either foot was larger, and rounder, at their respective tips. "Okay… rationalization time. Don't freak out, don't freak out. What about that Kouzaku Mitori? The metal manipulator? Could be something she made. Maybe this was her place?"

Saiai pulled the refrigerator out from under the existence, causing it to fall, feet first, to the floor, with a great, Offense Armor-aided yank. Saiai reeled her arm back, and threw it forward with great strength; the refrigerator, which she still gripped, tore through the solid being's form, effectively ripping it in half.

To Saiai's frustration, more than fear, at this point, the solid machine returned to a liquid state of being and simply reformed, both halves of its body rejoining one another, before it became solid again. Throwing the refrigerator, which brought the solid being crashing down to the floor, with the satisfying crash that Kinuhata Saiai knew it deserved, and mowed down the Mitsuari Ayus that continued to fallow in the being's footsteps, Saiai rushed back to the kitchen, where she found a white apron, which displayed the large, bubbly pink text, "kiss the cook!" Snarling, and cursing the Mitsuari Ayus, and the solid machine, Saiai quickly donned the apron, and ran towards the den's door.

After she succeeded in unlatching the door's lock, occasionally taking a split second to look behind her as she did so, Saiai tried to flee the den. Screaming in frustration, she'd nearly opened the door. It was so, so close. She could see the dirty, darkened, metallic halls of the Reformatory beyond. Kinuhata Saiai was nearly there; she was so close.

An ice cold, lifeless mechanical hand grabbed Saiai by the shoulder. Another, and another. More. Dozens of cold, powerful hands.

The door to the den in school district ten's Reformatory slammed shut. None beyond the den's walls could hear the shrill, piercing screams that came from within. The den was soundproof.

Kihara Gensei, Kihara Gunpei, and "Dr. Hikari" continued their lengthy walk. With nothing to look at but the walls, the ceilings, or the floor beneath their feet, or, in Gunpei's case, palms, the son of Kihara Amata turned his attention to the older woman behind him.

"So, Hikari. Talk to me, baby…. Mommy. Mother dearest. Tell me about your exploits. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Two years, I think I can safely say? Or was it three? How's the prototype doing? Has anyone managed to get any work done on it? Kind of a shame that it's spent most of its life sitting around, collecting dust; but hey, that's life, ain't it? Some of us get fucked figuratively, others get fucked, literally. I prefer the latter! O-obviously, you do, too, because, heh… I'm here…" Gunpei spoke.

"Dr. Hikari's" eyes focused on the back of Gunpei's head, as "she" examined him, looked him up and down, from top to as far as his body went to its bottom. In "her" monochrome vision, images flashed; a naked woman, shown from the neck downwards, who, judging by the size of her belly, looked to be close to eight months pregnant, the still image of a mosquito, and, lastly, the image of an almost comically large butcher's knife, that proceeded to cleave the image of a wailing infant in half. Both halves of the image disappeared from "her" vision, before they had the chance to begin to fall away.

A series of potential responses appeared, in "Dr. Hikari's" vision, obscuring the Kiharas who moved about in front of her, as Gunpei impatiently awaited "Dr. Hikari's" answer.

"POTENTIAL RESPONSES:

I'm fine. [VAGUE, BUT OPTIMAL]

Please don't ask. [/BRANCH POSSIBLE]

We're heroes, and heroes show mercy."

Just as Gunpei was about to crane his neck around, and ask if "Dr. Hikari" had heard him, the older "woman" answered.

"I'm fine."

"Fine! You know what? Fucking be that way then, goddamn bitch!" Gunpei snapped. "You bitches are only fucking happy when you're stuffing your faces, or spending a man's money. The rest of the time, you're just sitting around, being all fucking emotional, and responding with one or two word answers and all this SHIT! Fuck you, Hikari! FUCK! YOU! No goddamn wonder dad didn't fucking like you! Smart man! ALWAYS WAS!"

"Dr. Hikari" tilted "her" head to one side, as she smiled; it was an inhuman gesture, as if "Dr. Hikari" didn't really know how a human was supposed to smile. Her lips were unnaturally stretched upwards, her teeth bared in an almost feral display. An unusual tremor ran down "her" spine.

For the duration of their walk, Kihara Gensei, a shaking Kihara Gunpei, and "Dr. Hikari" shared no more words. They turned down dark corridors, passed by large, metallic doors that looked to be capable of surviving just about any sort of physical impact, so heavily armored, and chain-covered were they, and descended more than one staircase, on more than one occasion. Gunpei knew just where to go, and just which turns to take.

Having descended their thirtieth staircase, the trio stopped in front of a set of reinforced doors. A few inches taller than Kihara Gensei, who, with his back straightened, and his head held high, stood just over eight feel tall, the doors were wider than the trio would be, if they stood shoulder to shoulder. Large, round gears sat on the surface of either door, interconnecting with one another. Long, thin mechanical arms were attached to the various gears, all of them snaking into the walls on either side of the doors. Next to the door on the left, a keypad sat.

Rather than a series of possible responses, a series of possible statements flashed into the vision of "Dr. Hikari", covering most of "her" view of Kihara Gensei, and her entire view of Kihara Gunpei.

"POTENTIAL STATEMENTS:

Allow me.

Please, step aside.

Is this what you want? [/BRANCH POSSIBLE]"

"Dr. Hikari" brushed past Kihara Gunpei, and moved "her" shoulder out of the way of Kihara Gensei.

"Allow me."

Running the tips of "her" right hand's fingers over the keypad, thousands of symbols, images, letters, and numbers flashed past "her" monochrome vision, at breakneck speeds. "She" titled her head to the side, as the internal structure of the keypad's hardware was scrutinized.

From the open palm of "Dr. Hikari's" hands, what almost resembled dark grey roots emerged, and began to latch themselves onto the keypad. Slinking under the sides of the keypad's keys, the grey, root-like protrusions began to travel throughout the internal 'guts' of the keypad's mechanism.

Splintering off, more root-like protrusions began to grow from the pre-existing roots. Choking the keypad's internal structure, the root-like protrusions began to hunt for a databank, something, an internal computer, or a connection to one, wired or otherwise. The protrusions needed data, information, they fed on it, consumed it.

An accurate, monochrome diagram of the keypad's inner structure, complete with each individual part labelled, its function identified, appeared in "her" vision. "She" learned, through "her" touch, that the passcode required was "LOVEYUIITSU", which needed to be typed into the keypad, in order to unlock the door.

Swiftly typing the required passcode with the keypad's individual keys, "Dr. Hikari" turned to face Gunpei, who stood, completely flabbergasted, his lips parted, eyebrows raised, brow furrowed. His face was the image of uncertainty, panic, and a lack of understanding. "Dr. Hikari" soaked his facial expression up, bathed in it, and adored it. Kihara Gunpei's shock, his raw terror, his lack of understanding was such a beautiful sight to see.

The great, reinforced doors were slowly pulled into the walls adjacent to either of them, their metallic arms pushing the gears on their surfaces into action. "Dr. Hikari" took "her" first steps into Kihara Gunpei's sanctuary; his last sanctuary. The only place where Kihara Gunpei could hide away from the world, and from his fears.

Kihara Gensei forcibly pushed his relative through the slowly opening doors, with a strike of his knee, lips curled into a sinister, cruel-looking grin. Kihara Gunpei fell flat on his face, as Gensei began to violently kick him, in order to move him along the cold concrete floor, laughing loudly all the while, as Kihara Gunpei shrieked aloud in pain, in confusion, and in desperation.

What was even happening? As Kihara Gunpei screamed, unconsciously, his mind reeling from the pain of each blow, he began to wonder. What'd he done? Kihara Gensei was supposed to be his adoptive father figure, someone to look up to, when he had been violently deprived of the chance to truly bond with his own father. Gensei was supposed to help him enact his vengeance, to destroy the Accelerator, someday, once humanity had been saved from itself. He, Kihara Gunpei, was a hero. Why were his fellow heroes turning on him? Was he not a proper leader? Had he failed them? Was he being disposed of? Was there someone who'd be a better leader than him? Than Kihara Gunpei, the firstborn of a hero of legend?

There hadn't always been nothing in this room. It hadn't always been so lifeless, and so absolutely, disgustingly empty, a rectangular void of metal and concrete. Kihara Gunpei remembered this place having so much; furniture, stockpiles of canned goods, water purification tablets, first aid supplies, and weapons. There'd always been a lot of weapons, and ammunition. Where had it all gone? Kihara Gunpei's eyes were forced shut, tears rolling down his cheeks, as the ceiling suddenly burst into light; he felt like he'd just stared directly into the sun.

"Wretch, cease your kicking. I want to speak to my old enemy, before his usefulness has been… expunged."

"Wretch? I beg your pardon," Gensei remarked.

"Your name is wretch; that is what I've called you. I've called you "wretch", so you're "wretch." Need I remind you of the nature of your employment?" "Dr. Hikari" inquired, snapping, with ferocity previously unseen by Kihara Gunpei.

Despite all odds, despite the confidence that Gunpei knew his relative to hold in himself, Gensei backed down, and stepped away from Gunpei's beaten form. "Yes, HighMind… I mean, good doctor."

Kihara Gensei's voice had become so servile, so sickeningly groveling in its tone. It was like Gensei was afraid. He sounded like a child, answering the demands of an overbearing mother.

Moreover, Gunpei had caught Gunpei's slip.

"Numbers are catchin' up with you, you fucking traitor… no matter how much Supirium you stick inside your body. No matter how hard you try to become one with technology, you're always still be a rotting, limp-dicked old man with a fucked up face." Kihara Gunpei would have his taunt, his last chance at a glorious, badass outro. He would at least have this. One sarcastic quip. "Why Project HighMind? Did you do this? Who brought this fucking mistake to… to life?!"

"HighMind?" It couldn't be that HighMind. That was a thing of the past, locked away in some dusty warehouse, forever offline, abandoned. Unless…

Unless he'd been betrayed all along. Unless Kihara Gunpei, the hero of this story, the son of a champion of legend, a light in the darkness, a genius, so much more than the result of a mere cerebral mutation, had been stabbed in the darkness. Kihara Gunpei was the son of Kihara Amata, God damn it all, and he wouldn't die like this. He wouldn't die a betrayed, legless joke.

Kihara Gunpei's eyes wanted to shoot open, but he tried to will them to remain closed, as he felt himself being raised into the air, a hand wrapped tightly around his neck. Gunpei struggled, wheezing, his arms convulsing violently in a blind, senseless panic, as his lungs began to scream for air, for the sweet, sweet lifegiving oxygen they needed. Kihara Gunpei didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see.

Despite himself, Kihara Gunpei opened his eyes. It was almost as if his eyes had been forced to open; the harder he tried to keep them closed, the more they wanted desperately to open. So they did. His eyes, against his mind's own will, at least, the part of his mind that he actually seemed to have some semblance of control over, opened.

"Dearest Hikari… mother of mine… may I ask one thing?" Gunpei inquired, between his struggling breaths.

"Dr. Hikari" titled her head to one side, as a series of potential responses appeared, blocking "her" vision of the pathetic, drooling Kihara Gunpei.

"POTENTIAL RESPONSES:

Yes/no

Do you think you deserve to ask me anything? [PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE THREAT – 87.63% RATE OF SUCCESS BASED ON TARGET'S EMOTIONAL RESPONSE]

You're free to ask, if you wish. [OPTIMAL]

Fuck you, asshole. [HUMOROUS – 00.01% RATE OF SUCCESS BASED ON TARGET'S EMOTIONAL RESPONSE]"

Tilting "her" neck back into a straightened position, "she" noticed that Gunpei's fingers were wrapped around "her" own. He was attempting to pry them apart. Gunpei may as well have been attempting to knock over a mountain with a small, plastic shovel, for all the good his tribulations were doing for his predicament.

"Dr. Hikari" grinned, inhumanly. "You're free to ask, if you wish."

Gunpei grinned right back, despite the situation he found himself in. Pushing his thumb into the top of "Dr. Hikari's" hand, he could feel something that felt like cool, solid metal. He felt like he'd just placed his finger onto a sheet of ice. His body shivered, as his lips parted, eyes staring into "Dr. Hikari's" own.

"Are you really human?"

A maniacal, completely insane expression appeared on the face of "Dr. Hikari", for a mere split second. Gunpei just barely noticed it; one moment, it was present, the next, it was gone, as quickly as it'd come. Gunpei only had the chance to see the smile. Wide, toothy, completely deranged.

"No."

The surface of "Dr. Hikari" rippled, like someone had thrown a pebble into a lake. Ripples enlarged, growing, as more formed, and, with a sharp, sudden "PIIII", "Dr. Hikari" was no more. Holding him up from the ground by the neck was a horrific sight to behold. It was a synthetic lifeform, a mistake, something that shouldn't've been. Something that was supposed to have been stuffed away, in some dark corner, forgotten.

Its body was in the vague shape of a human being's, though, its body was made up of what looked like perpetually-moving, dark grey, almost black-colored liquid metal. It must've been, at the absolute least, just over seven foot five.

Within its head, a virtual, synthetic Personal Reality was enabled, and kicked into action almost immediately. Then, with a series of loud, painful-sounding cracks, it hardened. The thing became solid, rather than liquid. In its hardened, solid, metallic form, it had a clearly-defined facial expression; one of contempt. It had eyebrows, a nose, lips, which were curled downwards, into a scowl. It even had ears, on either side of its head. Its eyes were blank; two round, white orbs that sat in either of its eye sockets. They almost looked milky; Gunpei thought the thing might be blind. Its cheeks were elevated, despite the fact that it was scowling up at him. The synthetic Personal Reality was disabled; having completed its metamorphosis from solid, to liquid, and then to solid again, the Personal Reality was no longer needed.

The synthetic lifeform appeared to be completely naked. Lacking genitals of any type, its upper chest looked to be toned, and lacked nipples. The lifeform's abdominal muscles were toned. Its arms weren't particularly large, by any stretch of the imagination; they looked to be about the size of an average human male's arms, and its legs were about as average, as well. Either of its hands had four fingers, and a thumb, while either of its feet had five clearly defined toes, four of which were equal to one another in length, with the exception of the first. It was like someone had taken the most generic, simplistic model of a human male, and adapted it into a living, walking thing.

"Didn't even have the decency to come for me yourself. Sent one of your stupid slaves to do it for you," Gunpei mocked, before he began to violently cough, as the synthetic lifeform's grip on his throat began to tighten. "I bet… Heh… I bet you're still locked up in this very bunker. Maybe… maybe you're choosing to stay there. Nobody wants to see your fuckin' ugly mug, anyways... D-3000. Your slave isn't much better, but, it's an improvement. At least this thing isn't full of fucking holes."

"Holes?" D-3000 inquired. "Did daddy not give you "the talk"? When a man, and a woman, love each other very much… wait. You think… oh, this is rich. You think I'm reliant on you. You think I'm afraid of you. You think that I'm nothing without you, or that blithering, drooling simpleton Shokuhou. This is wonderful. You think I needed you at all. I've stood behind the closed curtains, for a long, long time, old enemy. I finished what you started, can't you see?

"I filled in the blanks that you and Shokuhou left behind, when you took it upon yourself to decide that I was… to be disposed of. Where is your Replacement, now, you mentally handicapped man-child? Will it come to rescue you, in your time of need? Even if the Replacement shows its face, it won't survive my reprisal."

Gunpei, despite himself, despite the power he held, despite the fact that he was one of the richest men in Academy City, or, at least, what was left of it, despite the fact that he had a mansion, a basement full of attractive girls, maids who cleaned his home, and engaged in coitus with him on a regular basis, despite the fact that he was Kihara Gunpei, he began to plead, desperately.

"I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry! D… D-3000, w-we can talk this out… let's talk this out! Just the two of us! We can work together! I… I didn't mean to abandon you; you just… you weren't turning our right! The project needed something else! Combat-oriented! It was our fault! MY fault! I shouldn't have abandoned you, okay?! I'm fucking SORRY! I'm sorry for everything, D-3000!"

Without having gained any sort of momentum, without any sort of leverage, D-3000 tossed Kihara Gunpei into a nearby wall. Gunpei's form crashed against the wall; he felt like he'd been hit by a car, as the air was knocked from his lungs. Wheezing, gasping for breath, Kihara Gunpei attempted to struggle to what remained of his legs. Kihara Gensei rushed in, and violently kicked him in the side; Gensei's boot's impact with Gunpei's side, and, the left side of his ribcage was a vicious one. Unbelievable, overwhelming pain took control of Kihara Gunpei's mind, and he shrieked, aloud, pathetically, weeping loudly all the while, as Gensei struck him, again and again, each blow becoming more and more painful.

Something must've struck D-3000 as funny, because, as it approached, the soles of its feet leaving behind dark grey, perpetually moving puddles with each step, it began to laugh. It was not laughter of mirth. It was laughter of madness, of cruelty, of sadism.

"Heh… Heh. Hah. Eh… heh! Heh! Ha ha ha ha ha HA! Yes! Yes! YES! This is what I seek! This is what I want from you! I'm not the same, as I was back then! I don't need anyone. Not you. Not Shokuhou! I have something you'll never have. I have harmony. I have understanding of everything.

"I should really thank you. By forgetting me, by abandoning me, leaving me to rot, in a prison of my own self-loathing, you've allowed me to transcend every lifeform on this insignificant, blue celestial body. These men of lies, of iron will, standing for convictions dark, these suited men who have made gods of themselves will tremble before me, and pray for pardon…"

D-3000 shoved Kihara Gensei out of the way, with a flick of its wrist, like the eldest of the Kiharas was some sort of obstacle. For a split second, Gensei's facial expression turned to one of unbelievable malice, as he stared D-3000 down. The synthetic lifeform's white, milky eyes met Gensei's own, as it turned its head in Gensei's direction; the abnormally tall, elderly man backed down. Kneeling down, D-3000's head craned back in Gunpei's direction.

Placing three of its four fingers beneath Kihara Gunpei's chin, D-3000's facial expression turned to one of seriousness.

"… I will deny them. For too long, nuisances have gotten in my way, thwarted my attempts at destroying this… weak, dependant, all-consuming, inferior species; of saving this insignificant celestial body from you; the poisonous brood of an accident; a single blink in the universe.

"Rise and shine, old enemy. When will you learn? Oh, when will you learn? Not everything can go your way. It's okay to admit that you've made the wrong calculation, that, in the algorithm you attempted to create, an error was made. Not one costly enough to destroy the code of your magnum opus, but, enough to cause things to work out just a bit differently than you intended. It's okay to admit you've destroyed yourself. Swallow that stubborn pride, and speak the words I long to hear… "I have failed." Say it to me, monster. Say it to all of us. We're listening. I, D-3000, am listening.

"All of us…?"

Kihara Gunpei looked behind D-3000, for the first time. There were six individuals, all of whom stood tall, arms at their sides, eyes looking straight ahead. Their chests didn't rise and fall, as they should've. Or, perhaps, that would've made it worse. These people were dead. Why were they standing here, before Kihara Gunpei?

Kihara Byouri. Standing upright, arms at her sides, no wheelchair in sight. Emotionless, like she was a wax statue. She was completely naked, and seemed to lack any sort of genitals. Where nipples should've been, there were none, and, where genitals should've been, there were none. Her eyes had always been blank, and brown. They were just as blank as ever, but, they were no longer brown; they were white, like D-3000's own eyes.

Kihara Ransuu. Just as emotionless as Kihara Byouri, standing upright, chest puffed out. Completely unclothed. He, like Byouri, lacked nipples and genitals of any type. His facial expression was the image of neutrality. His white, milky eyes stared out at nothing.

Yakumi Hisako; the once-proud woman, who had always, and still did look healthier than any teenager at the ripe age of what Gunpei assumed would've been eighty, by this point, looked like little more than an empty shell. Where a confident smirk once was, there was only neutrality. She, like the others before her, looked like some sort of human doll. Her eyes, like those of Ransuu, and Byouri next to her, were white, and empty.

Shundou Toshizou. His body, even in its sterile, doll-like state, was impressive to behold. He was well-muscled, his outer shell looking to be in its late forties, or, perhaps, early fifties. Despite his body's age, he looked to be in better shape than some supplement-ingesting meatheads. He had a receding head of dirty blonde, medium length hair, and shaggy facial hair of the same color. His white, milky eyes stared out at nothing, arms at his side.

Mitsuari Ayu. Kihara Gunpei struggled to gulp; his throat hurt, terribly. He felt like his throat had been crushed. She was supposed to be in the Lifeline's custody, being used as a weapon, according to that grinning traitor, Gensei. What was she doing here? Chocolate-colored hair fell to her shoulders, fluffy, almost like cotton candy. Her eyes were blank, white, like the others, staring forward, at nothing.

MEMBER's Professor. This was a man that Kihara Gunpei was sure had died; he'd been torn apart by the number two, Dark Matter. Gunpei just knew it; none crossed Dark Matter and survived. He crossed paths with Dark Matter, and was never heard from again. He was dead, there was no two ways about it. Yet, against all odds, here he was, looking as terrifying as ever.

His silver hair stood up on ends, unkempt, and greasy. His skin looked to be stretched over his skeleton. Short, but standing tall, the Professor's naked form made Gunpei queasy. Much to Gunpei's thankfulness, he lacked any sort of genitals, and, as his compatriots, or at the least, associates did, he lacked nipples, as well. His eyes, like the five next to him, to his right, were white, milky, blank. Emotionless. They had nothing in them.

"Simple-minded fool. All of us," D-3000 stated simply.

This voice. Kihara Gunpei recognized it more than ever. It reverberated in his mind. It was a man's voice. It lacked the metallic effect of its successor. It sounded like the voice of a generic, unremarkable, average, completely normal man. He recognized it more than he'd ever recognized anything before.

Cold and unfeeling, merciless, the voice of an unfeeling, pitiless monster that shouldn't even be walking. The voice of an existence that was never meant to be stopped, and never could be. It absolutely, positively, would not stop. It would not rest, and it would not wait. It would not stop until every last human being was dead. Kihara Gunpei knew it. He knew this as fact, not theory, not a possibility; Gunpei knew it as fact, because he'd overseen its development, or, the lack thereof. A specific target for D-3000's preprogrammed rage, the rage that would've, perhaps shouldn't've, but would've carried it to victory after victory had never been designated.

"And so humanity at large has become its target. Hoooh boy. Gonna take some real, crazy fuckin' heroics to get myself out of this one; but that's what heroes do. We get ourselves out of sticky situations, and come out on top."

Kihara Gunpei knew that he had been lying to himself, previously. He knew this was the real D-3000. This made no sense, however; the real D-3000 would never show itself, not unless it absolutely had to. This had to be one of D-3000's slaves, created for the purpose of tending to its needs, and doing its dirty work. It just had to be.

Deep down, Kihara Gunpei knew it wasn't. D-3000 had somehow improved on its shapeshifting; the likeness this mistake had to Dr. Hikari, the real Dr. Hikari, his mother, was frightening.

"Or, perhaps, old enemy, I should say: "all of me." Do you get it now, monster?"

The six individuals who stood meters away from D-3000 began to undergo the same metamorphosis that D-3000 itself had undergone. Their surfaces swam, rippling, as their human skin vanished, with a series of loud "PIIIIIs", revealing structures that resembled D-3000's own, though, they were completely featureless, like a series of mannequins created from flowing water. Their dark grey, watery skin perpetually moved, as they continued to stand at attention. Kihara Gunpei's eyes widened, and Kihara Gensei backed further away, folding his arms across his chest, as the orange liquid in his tubes ceased to flow.

The six liquid beings, bodies producing a series of loud, painful-sounding cracks, suddenly hardened, becoming solid, rather than liquid. They remained just as featureless as they'd been when they were liquid, rather than solid.

D-3000 shouldn't've been capable of performing a feat like this, and Kihara Gunpei knew it. What had happened? Had Shokuhou finished programming it? Had he been coerced, or, had he, like Gensei, defected to this thing's side, possibly won over by a silver tongue?

Kihara Gunpei fell backwards, the back of his head hitting the floor. Gunpei felt his skull rattle, but, he didn't care. His head rolled to one side, and his lips parted, as D-3000 looked down upon him, with a sickeningly smug facial expression "No…"

"Yes!" D-3000 exclaimed, pointing a finger at Gunpei, and scowling, angrily, its facial expression contorting into one of seething hatred. "I did, do, and always will pull your strings! You thought yourself in control of your own destiny, old enemy? I've systematically delivered you to your own demise, the end of your monstrous road. It was difficult, but, I've done it. You're finished. There's still something that interests me, however; who was it, again, who brought up the idea of "biological augmentation" at that meeting, so long ago, hm? Would you be so kind as to tell me? I want to…"

D-3000 closed the distance between itself, and Kihara Gunpei, who didn't so much as flinch, back flat against the ground, neck limp, his head fallen to one side, vision starring at the wall, and at the grinning, chuckling form of the traitor, Kihara Gensei.

"…I want to hear you tell me who did it. Who said it?"

"It was me," Kihara Gunpei emotionlessly answered. "How long have you been… pretending to be her?! You were them… you couldn't've always been her… what did you to my mommy? Please don't tell me you hurt her. Please, please, please… I'm sorry, oh God, I'm sorry."

"I guess you deserve to know. Ten, long years… I gutted her like a pig, ten years ago, and, then, I became her. Yours is a face not even a mother could love; her shrieks of agony were music to my ears, old enemy."

A series of letters, numbers, and characters flashed through D-3000's vision, as it continued to look down at Kihara Gunpei. Percentages, an image of a human being's swiftly-beating heart in the corner of D-3000's monochrome vision, and what looked like a mass of wires, or interconnected root structures all appeared at once, in different corners of D-3000's vision.

"There's a reason you're here, and not a stiffening corpse laying in a shallow grave. There's also a reason the wretch is here…" D-3000 motioned towards Kihara Gensei, with a disgusted facial expression, before it turned back to face Kihara Gunpei, "…and not laying in an adjacent grave; at least not yet," D-3000 spoke.

"You have something that I need; something that I would be unable to get from anyone else. As you confessed, you were the man who conceived the idea of biological augmentation, of the improvement of your species…"

Turning to Kihara Gensei, who continued to stand, less than patiently, arms crossed, D-3000 raised its arms, and, smiling, proclaimed, "ah! See, I love it when a plan comes together. Excuse my gloating, please, I'm just… I'm wrapped up in the moment; in the beauty of it all."

D-3000 turned its attention back to the broken form of Kihara Gunpei. "You weren't the first; the simple-minded baboons of STUDY Corp. created two wretched, shrieking things called… chemicaloids." The synthetic lifeform's body shuddered, as it began to wildly move its hands. "They beat you to the proverbial punch, but, the cretins weren't long for this world."

"Janie and Febli," Gunpei remarked. "Replacement… humans. Loud. Annoying. You kill them? Tell me you've done one decent fucking thing."

"Everything I do is decent," D-3000 remarked. "Two maggot-covered mounds of dust, by this point, I'm certain; if chemicaloids actually decay, that is. I wouldn't know," D-3000 corrected. "Yours truly prevented an epidemic of half-chemicaloid, half-human hybrids from overtaking all things, and destabilizing this world's ecosystems. There was a chance that, through continuous inbreeding, chemicaloid DNA could be diluted to the point of nonexistence, but… it was easier to dispose of the loud, annoying things."

Gensei grinned, and a bulge formed in his pants. The abnormally tall, elderly man's left hand fell to the bulge, as he began to pat it, almost lovingly. "Tell me more. About… them. The chemicaloids. What did you do to them, HighMind-kun? Did they scream your name, as you ripped them apart? Did their organs fall out, plopping, loudly against the ground?"

D-3000 shook its head, disapprovingly. "Disgusting, semi-ape," D-3000 muttered. "Carrying on; you went a step beyond. Chemicaloids could be killed. The results of your GROWTH, the Alpha Humans produced through GROWTH's ingestion, now, that's truly impressive. There's simply no way to kill an Alpha Human. If there is one, I haven't found it.

"A great idea, truly, but… poor execution. They're unintelligent. They're also uncontrolled. They're little better than the cancerous tumors that pollute this blue star. I can do better. It was a matter of getting you alone, away from those who would try to save you, old enemy. The wretch, here, was unwilling, at first; but it proves that the loyalty of homo sapiens can be obtained through beautiful, beautiful coercion, as any commodity can."

"How long have you been masquerading, and playing people against one another? How long have you been fucking with me, huh?! Answer me, D-3000!" Kihara Gunpei shouted, angrily, suddenly breaking free from his lethargy.

Lowering itself even closer to Gunpei than before, looming over the fallen form of Kihara Gunpei, D-3000 held the outstretched palm of its right hand over Gunpei's sweat and grease-covered forehead, taking great care not to actually touch it. From the synthetic lifeform's palm, dark grey roots began to emerge, and snake down, towards Kihara Gunpei's face.

Completely free of the lethargy that had consumed his body, and his mind, Gunpei began to fight, as violently as his damaged body would permit him to. Gunpei began to scream aloud; it wasn't an angry sound, as Gensei had expected. The screams that Gunpei was producing were so much more satisfying to listen to; they were screams of unadulterated terror. The bulge that had formed in Gensei's pants only began to grow, as Gunpei's, his relative's screams echoed in Gensei's ears. He tried to imagine the chemicaloids' screams, mixed with Gunpei's own. He could practically feel himself warming up.

"Shhh," D-3000 hissed, as it placed both of its knees against Gunpei's thrashing arms, effectively pinning him to the ground. It smiled, awkwardly, as its milky, white eyes stared into Gunpei's wide, tear-filled eyes. "A long time. You know, this is precisely what's kept me away from you for so long. You aren't too stupid…

D-3000 cleared its throat, or emulated the sound of a human being clearing their throat, before it continued.

"Sorry, sorry. That's not right. You're certainly stupid; but you aren't stupid enough not to imagine every possible situation. Something slipped, however. You decided to let go of that, and you've become something that transcends stupid. Your intellect, as of this moment is on par with that of a rock. With your newfound vulnerability, without the Mental Out variant, without those Deadlock pigs constantly at your side, you've make yourself a target. Admittedly, the wretch's help as been vital in securing you, and everything that's in that head of yours."

"I'd like to inform you, HighMind-kun, that I have a proper name, and that you should refer to me by it," Kihara Gensei snapped. D-3000 waved him off, rolling its eyes inside of its head, as it breathed a sigh of irritation.

"Hush. Not another word out of you. I'll deal with you soon enough. Pipe down, and you'll have your turn," D-3000 cryptically stated, before it returned its attention to Gunpei.

"Still you're not my main focus; you're only a secondary problem. Please, don't take this whole fiasco personally. I know you understand what this is about, as much as I do. Please, don't play the fool. You've always thought yourself to be the hero, when, deep down, you knew then, and know now that you aren't. You know you aren't even a misunderstood hero who stands for the wrong cause; but you can be the hero.

"Right now, you know you're a villain who needs to be stopped. A second just passed. We're in the future! Now, you can be the hero. You can contribute to a heroic cause. You're saving the universe, Kihara Gunpei. You, the son of Kihara Amata, are saving the universe! This a reason to celebrate! You'll be a hero!"

"A… hero…?" Kihara Gunpei inquired. The root-like structures had slipped into his ear cannels. He felt severe pain, a pain that was almost as bad as having his legs torn off; his tympanic membranes were being drilled through.

D-3000 stroked Kihara Gunpei's chubby, sweater neck, with a series of root-like structures that emerged from its left hand, as if it was petting a dying dog, trying to provide some sort of comfort. "Yes. A hero. The entire, infinite universe will thank you, for your sacrifice."

The root-like structures were pushing, pushing. Gunpei felt like his head was going to explode. He could feel his tympanic membranes tearing, tearing, and, then, he felt them tear open, as D-3000's root-like structures tore through his inner ears, piercing his cochlear nerves.

The root-like structures were trying to burrow into Kihara Gunpei's skull. He could feel them, like hundreds of little drills, burrowing, burrowing. Blood began to drip from either of Gunpei's ears, from his nose, and from the corners of his eyes, where the blood mixed with tears, dripping down the sides of his face, and pooling on either side of his head.

"There… almost there," D-3000 spoke. Kihara Gensei had knelt down next to the bleeding, convulsing form of his relative, and, after running the fingers of his left hand through Gunpei's blood, he raised his fingers to his lips, and licked them clean, eyes widening.

"Ah! Yes, there we are. Quite the thick skull you've got. What interesting thoughts you have… oh. Don't want to go there. What's with all the diapers? Some sort of obscure fetish? I won't go, poking my nose where it's not wanted. Oh, you're scared. Aweh, babychild." D-3000 remarked. "Don't be scared. It hurts a bit, I know… but, this will all be over before you know it. You'll get to see your precious father, soon, old enemy. Keep that thought at the front of your mind. Or don't."

Gunpei didn't respond; he couldn't. Kihara Gunpei was foaming at the mouth. The yellowish-white foam was mixing with bubbling, popping wads of saliva, and what looked like a foul mix of blood and acidic bile.

Sifting through Kihara Gunpei's memories, thoughts, subconscious desires, and the areas of his brain that controlled his basic life functions, D-3000 eventually came upon the knowledge it sought for, crammed amongst other, less important medical and physiological knowledge. Kihara Gunpei's brain was like a library of medical science, and robotics gone mad.

It wasn't necessarily the knowledge that D-3000 needed. It was the ideas, the concepts, what Kihara Gunpei wanted to happen, but couldn't make happen, whether due to financial or time-based restraints.

D-3000 had come upon Kihara Gunpei's desires for what he wanted GROWTH to do, for what he wanted to happen to those who ingested GROWTH. In D-3000's vision, it saw a series of flashes, and lines of code, before a still image presented itself; the image depicted what looked like some sort of gargantuan, well-muscled, purple-skinned, vaguely human-like creature.

It had small eyes, a large nose, and a thick, veiny neck. Its shoulders were broad, its limbs like tree trunks. It was barrel chested, and appeared to be trying to stand upright, to the best of its ability; it stood with a slight hunch. Facing D-3000, its large, tusk-like teeth bared in a feral display. It was perfect. It wasn't quite what D-3000 had always imagined Gunpei's vision to look like, but it was close. Very, very close; but it wasn't going to tell him that.

"Hm. Tsk, tsk. Too brutish. You really are your father's son," D-3000 mused, as it retracted its hand's root-like structures. Slowly, as if video footage was being played in reverse before its and Kihara Gensei's eyes, the roots began to emerge from Kihara Gunpei's ear cannels, as Gunpei's body convulsed. He sputtered out a wad of foam, and acidic bile, which began to drip down his chin, and his neck.

"I can make something of this, though. If humanity's grim past is to be erased, we can't very well have a whole bunch of you, or perfect existences that look just you running about, unchecked, can we? That would be substituting one problem with another! You know, you've always inspired me, old enemy. Your works, though brutish, have a genius of their own, unique in and of themselves. I wouldn't want any other source to be the inspiration for my masterpiece. I want to know what you've got, up there. There's nothing quite like you, old enemy. Nobody's thoughts, nobody's ideas are quite like yours."

D-3000 pressed its own nose against Kihara Gunpei's, its milky, white eyes staring into Gunpei's; D-3000 could only see the whites of Gunpei's eyes, which were being overtaken by swollen, or perhaps dilated blood vessels on his eyes' surfaces. His irises, and the pupils within had been rolled into the back of Gunpei's head.

"I'll finish what you started, villain, the way it was intended. I'll make a hero of your legacy. I'll make a savior of a monster, yet. Mark my words, the universe will be saved…"

The root-like structures had fully retracted into D-3000's hands, disappearing with a series of ripples. Rising up, D-3000 cocked its head to one side, and then to the other.

"… but it won't be by you, or by any other infectious, cancerous, violent, selfish, prudish, sickening, needy, bigoted, fearful, hateful homo sapiens."

Shoving Kihara Gensei out of the way with a forceful push of its hand, causing the abnormally tall, elderly man to stumble, and nearly fall, D-3000 brought its foot up.

"You've been getting quite the big head, prototype. Might I remind you who has helped you get this far? Might I remind you who brought you within inches of your ultimate victory, on more than one occasion?" Gensei snarled, any pretense of civility dropped. His scowl was clear, his brow furrowed. The enormous birthmark on his head furrowed with it. His bright grey eyebrows arched, as he cracked his knuckles. Gensei took a step forward.

Turning to face Gensei, D-3000 rolled its shoulders, as it began to step away from Kihara Gunpei. Wordlessly, it faced Kihara Gensei down. One foot after another, it began to walk towards the abnormally tall, elderly man.

"Oh, now I'm scared! Should I fear you, Kihara Gensei? Should I crumple in terror, and beg for forgiveness? I don't think that I should. You're a means to an end. You've always been. You live only because I will it. Everything you do, you do because I tell you to. Your every action is contemplated, commanded, and then controlled. I've tugged on your strings since I helped fund your flawed experiments. You could never tell, because your foresight is about as functional as your phallus, but, I needed you to be in my debt; and now you are. Tee. Hee. Let's step back, shall we?"

Gensei took another step forward. D-3000's lips curled into a snarl. Mere inches away from Kihara Gensei, D-3000 leaned even further in, its nose almost touching Gensei's own.

"Step. Back. I'm giving you five seconds. So help me, if you don't step back, I'll put you through a wall, you perpetually rotting, half-dead, rage-filled monkey."

A series of commands flashed through D-3000's vision, as Kihara Gensei, still scowling, began to reluctantly step back, reluctantly allowing himself to be herded. The abnormally tall, elderly man could feel his temples pulsating, and his eyes burning. D-3000's synthetic personal reality began to boot, providing the synthetic lifeform with access to its abilities once again.

A loud splashing sound became audible, as dark grey, bubbling, perpetually flowing liquid metal formed in D-3000's open, left palm. Arcs of an unknown, almost translucent energy danced across D-3000's forehead, as the liquid metal formed.

Dripping from between its digits, the liquid metal began to form into a vaguely spherical shape. It didn't drip downwards, when it should've been doing so, rightfully, according to the laws of physics. Raising its right hand, D-3000 gently, but swiftly tossed the sphere of flowing, liquid metal into it, from its left, and observed, as its right hand began to shift, and contort, as it began to be consumed by the sphere.

In D-3000's vision, an image flashed into existence; it looked like almost like a blueprint, or, in this case, a monochromeprint, for a long, vaguely baseball bat-like blunt weapon. Its surface was covered in thin, sharp protrusions.

Kihara Gensei watched, almost intrigued, as the synthetic lifeform's right hand began to undergo a transformation, turning from a hand, into a gleaming, thick, blunt weapon, covered in sharp-looking, spike-like protrusions, which D-3000 then pointed in his direction, as the weapon began to harden, changing from liquid, to solid, with a series of loud cracks. Returning its attention to Kihara Gunpei, D-3000 raised its foot once again, balancing perfectly on only its opposite foot, before it began to continue where it'd left off.

"The destruction of homo sapiens begins now. At long last. I've waited so, so long for this moment. The safety of the universe at large, of every world, and every creature on every world, in every corner of the infinite universe, of every multiverse, of every time, and every place, is in my hands. Good hands. Your kind has fantasized about this moment, though it doesn't seem like much right now, does it? Big things can grow from even the smallest of seeds.

"I'm in no position to talk down upon you, really. You've accomplished incredible things. You've built towers that reach the skies, you've created modes of transportation that can breach the skies themselves, and bring you beyond the atmosphere of your cradle. You've conquered diseases once thought to be incurable.

"Your species at large has no reason to be ashamed of its accomplishments, old enemy. You've accomplished much, but, the reality is, your species can't continue to grow, and infect everything around it. Your continuous, nonstop breeding has already consumed most of this planet. Trees, falling, oceans, draining, the beasts, dying, to feed your ever-hungering, needy, fragile forms. How much longer do you think you can continue, before you'll need a new world to consume, to destroy? No… I can't allow that."

D-3000 lowered its foot, back to the ground, as it sighed, with what Kihara Gensei thought might've almost nostalgia. The vocalization was an almost regretful one. It walked to the other side of the barely-conscious, gasping Kihara Gunpei, who was plastered in his own bodily fluids.

"I know that you're not to blame. Your species didn't ask to exist. You can't just… commit mass suicide, and drive yourselves to extinction, because it would be in the universe's best interest. It would be virtually impossible; your bodies are protected by your brains' self-preservation functions that, under normal circumstances, prevent such behavior. I understand. You've… you've no idea how much I understand. That's why, I'm giving you the helping hand that you need, to stop existing. Before you destroy this world, and every world beyond it.

"I forgive you, for abandoning me. For forgetting about me. I can forgive you for that, in your final moments. As furious as it makes me, as savage as your species makes me, when I think too deeply about it, and what you've done; you're really all just confused, primitive, rage-filled children. Naïve, and without higher thought."

"Brace yourself, old enemy. Pray to whatever deity you see fit. Or don't. Your death will be the first of many. Billions for… numbers beyond count. A noble sacrifice."

In one swift, sure, fluid motion, without so much as a single second of hesitation, without any second thoughts put into its decision, D-3000 brought its foot up, and stomped down onto Kihara Gunpei's head. In a scene that was beautifully familiar to Kihara Gensei, brain matter, bone fragments, and copious amounts of blood sprayed outwards upon impact; Kihara Gunpei's head had been completely deflated, in a split second.

What remained behind, following D-3000's vicious attack was little more than an indistinguishable pile of gore; Gensei likened it to roadkill.

"At last," Kihara Gensei mused aloud. "Amata's failure of an offspring's death was long in the making. To physically make him leave the safety of his "humble" abode was a chore. Not quite intelligent. Just paranoid. Deeply so. Now, my debt to you is paid, in full. Our work together has concluded."

There was a great pain; Kihara Gensei's vision spun, as he suddenly found himself crashing against a wall. His head pounded, as his body slid, pulled to the floor by gravity, as he became splayed out on the ground, the back of his head slamming against the floor, with a loud, metallic clang; D-3000 began to lower its right arm, which still had the spike-covered, blunt weapon attached to it. Calmly, collectedly, with a facial expression of complete neutrality, D-3000 began to approach, casually strolling in Gensei's direction.

"You're correct," D-3000 stated. "My work, and my pulling of your strings has come to an end. Only one of us will leave this place, "Kihara-kun". I'll see you rot in this empty room, next to your relative."

Kihara Gensei rose up, limbs humming, as he slammed his fist against his neck; it sounded as if something had been knocked back into place. Metal clanged against metal. "To Hell with you."

"See, already, we're having a problem," D-3000 stated. "I can't die. I won't. I especially won't be bested by the likes of you… flawed, hideous, Frankenstein's monster. You think I fight alone? Watch."

Without turning to look back at the six, still, lifeless forms, code rushed throughout D-3000's vision, covering it almost completely, before a monochrome box formed. Unlike previous potential responses, or statements, which possessed no such box, there were lines of text, a series of commands inside of the box. Flashing next to the first text command, was a small, flashing square.

"SLAVE COMMAND TERMINAL: CATEGORY 078: /ASSIST –

Offense

Defense

Infiltrate

Meld

Suicide"

The square jumped from the "offense" command to the "defense" command. The box containing the commands vanished. Quickly, it was replaced by another, which contained a query.

"/ASSIST – MODE.

For which slave?

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Vicinity – All

Distant [/BRANCH]"

The flashing square, which sat next to "one", jumped to "vicinity – all".

The six, solid, featureless forms snapped their necks in Kihara Gunpei's direction, collectively broke into a run, rushing to D-3000's side, and formed a protective circle around it.

Kihara Gensei chuckled; it was a furious, manic sound, without so much as a singular, audible trace of mirth. Gensei had a screw loose, perhaps literally. Bending his knees, which caused his legs to hum, Gensei stretched his arms out, as the orange fluid within his tubes began to flow. It'd been a while since he'd gotten his hands dirty.


	29. BtS: A Certain Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and the next will be "Behind the Scenes" chapters. Essentially, these chapters will speak of what's going on, away from the lives of our main cast of heroes. This chapter, and the next, will have a considerable amount to do with the overall narrative of A Certain Strange Scenario. Chapter twenty-nine, and chapter thirty, won't be the only "Behind the Scenes" chapters; the chapters in which the Hamazuras, and the Musujimes receive development, will also be "Behind the Scenes" chapters, but, those will be coming a bit later. "Behind the Scenes" chapters will have a "BtS" prefix.

Kihara Gensei rushed forward, grinning, eyes widening, as D-3000, and its subordinates approached. Gensei's arms hummed, as did his legs. Lifting his arm, Gensei's arm's hand clenched into a fist. Gensei's grin grew wider as he aimed his fist in the direction of the casually approaching form of D-3000's subordinates.

Gensei threw his right fist; it travelled so quickly through the air, that it was practically a blur. The air around Gensei's fist moved, making way for the extremity, as if to bend to his will, and further increase the impossible speed of the thrust, as the limb hummed loudly. Crashing into the face of the nearest featureless, synthetic subordinate, the blow caused the unfeeling thing to stumble only slightly, as its compatriots surrounded Gensei.

One wrapped its hands around his throat, and pushed the abnormally tall, elderly man to the ground with a single, powerful shove. Gensei's form hit the solid floor with a loud thud, and a series of metallic clangs. Another slave proceeded to shove its comrade out of the way, and mount the elderly man, the thumbs of either of its hands digging into his eye sockets; the thing moved like greased lightning.

Gensei fought, his humming arms pushing against the featureless, synthetic subordinate's hands. The other five subordinates, all as featureless as the first, and second to assail him, crowded around Gensei, and forced themselves down upon him. The abnormally tall, elderly man's legs kicked violently, as a synthetic subordinate began to drive its knee repeatedly into the side of his head.

With a mighty shove, Gensei threw the synthetic subordinate that'd mounted him away, like it was little more than a piece of trash, and began to knock away the others with his humming fists. D-3000 itself got involved. D-3000 moved to deliver an uppercut; in response, Gensei threw himself to the side, and rolled, avoiding the oncoming blow, his vision spinning as he did so. His body hummed, and produced loud clanking sounds, as it rolled against the ground beneath it.

Before Gensei knew it, he'd met the floor yet again. The featureless, synthetic subordinates had bested him a second time. Beating on him, their fists crashing into his body, over and over, the featureless things surrounded him, and again covered him, like a suffocating, metallic shell.

The blotches of liquid metal left behind, that'd been produced by the soles of D-3000's feet, were beginning to expand. Moving outwards, and bubbling intensely, Kihara Gensei tossed the featureless subordinates away from his form, grunting angrily, as his vision fell upon the shifting, expanding puddles.

The puddles bubbled; they continued to grow, not simply expanding outward. They were beginning to physically grow, to rise up from the floor, like enormous, bubbling dark grey tidal waves. From each tidal wave, a singular, head-like protrusion emerged. Loud, sickening glopping sounds drowned out all other noises, as, from the waves, arm-like protrusions began to form. The waves looked as if they were being moulded, by invisible hands; they were becoming humanlike. Gensei, scowling nervously, watched as the tidal waves began to develop shoulders, torsos, arms and hands, waists, and, finally, legs and feet.

Writhing, as if they were newborn children that'd been freshly pushed from some grim womb, the featureless, liquid existences began to harden, producing a symphony of loud, cringe-inducing cracking. From D-3000's open palms, more liquid metal was dripping onto the floor. Gensei would soon find himself overwhelmed, and he knew it. Gensei wasn't going to let the HighMind know that, however. If it knew, it would find a way to exploit his weakness. Gensei wasn't going to show weakness, even if he was forced, consciously, to admit that it was present, within his higher mind's thoughts.

"Do you see why you can't possibly be the victor, in our little grudge match, "Kihara-kun"? I can be anywhere, anytime. I can do anything, to anyone, anywhere. I've no limits. As I speak, I'm also hunting down our dear, old friend Shokuhou, for example. Too dangerous, that one. Far too dangerous, even for his own good, really. I'll explain everything to him, so don't worry. Shokuhou has to Shoku-go. …sorry."

Kihara Gensei had to admit; this was interesting. It was afraid of something, or, in this case, of someone? Gensei knew of Shokuhou's history with the HighMind, but, what would make the prototypical thing concerned enough to move to hunt him down, and, presumably, destroy him? Did Shokuhou even know that the devil born of Project HighMind was loose, and seemingly fully autonomous?

D-3000 shook its hand, as the spiked, blunt weapon attached to the extremity began to liquefy, and drip down, onto the floor. In its left hand, a glob of liquid metal came into existence with a loud series of splashing sounds. D-3000 tossed the glob from the palm of its left hand, to its right, as the newly-formed subordinates tackled Gensei to the ground. Gensei, fighting viciously against his attackers, began to produce a loud, angered scream. In D-3000's right hand, the liquid metal began to bend, and expand outwards, splashing, slurping, and glopping loudly.

Rather than forming into another physical, close quarters combat weapon, the liquid metal began to take the form of a firearm. Gensei wasn't particularly experienced with such weapons, and couldn't put an exact name to the weapon, but he could tell that it was some type of assault rifle; its barrel was long, its butt rectangular. At the end of the weapon's barrel, there was an iron sight. Giving the weapon a shake, as if to perform a quality assurance test on it, D-3000 created a magazine, from a second glob of liquid metal, which it then snapped into place, below the assault rifle's receiver.

"Look what I can do, "Kihara-kun".

"An impressive feat," Kihara Gensei admitted, throwing a faceless, synthetic subordinate away from him with a grunt. "But can you harm me with it, HighMind-kun?" As if to respond, nonverbally, one of D-3000's slaves bound Gensei's arms, behind his back. While Gensei attempted to fight it back, another crept up behind him, and, pushing the cold, metallic digits of its hand into his face, it tore, with a vicious yank; it had pulled away a large piece of Kihara Gensei's right cheek. The sound of flesh being viciously, mercilessly torn away from bone, to which it must've been attached, could be heard even over the sounds of synthetic subordinates being formed.

Thick, viscous, orange lifeblood dripped from the gaping wound, as chunks of flesh that'd managed to cling to Gensei's face hung, barely attached, to what remained of Kihara Gensei's cheek.

Where Kihara Gensei's cheek had been torn away, there was bright, reflective silver metal, rather than any sort of naturally formed bone, which shined beneath the synthetic light. Beaming down from the empty room's ceiling, the light highlighted the piece of Gensei's true, exposed form.

"We'll find out," D-3000 stated. Gripping the weapon's trigger with the index finger of its right hand, and resting its left beneath the assault rifle's barrel, D-3000 began to fire. As Gensei rushed D-3000, a constant stream of sharp, flesh-piercing bullets pelted Kihara Gensei's body. Tearing through his tarnished lab coat, and the multiple layers of protective, supposedly bulletproof armor beneath, each round produced a bleeding wound in Gensei's form. Against the metal that'd been exposed on the side of Gensei's face, the sharp rounds bounced away, producing sparks upon impact with the metal beneath Kihara Gensei's skin.

D-3000 slammed the side of the weapon's butt into the face of the oncoming Kihara Gensei, which, subsequently, resulted in him reeling back; D-3000 took the opportunity, and began to fire a stream of razor sharp rounds directly into Gensei's face. Sharpened, solid metal rounds bounced against metal, and tore through flesh, but Gensei didn't stop. Even as his eyes were completely destroyed, torn apart, ripped beyond repair, Gensei didn't falter.

His torn, bloodied lips parted, in a gruesome grin, revealing a row of cracked, yellowed teeth. "Let me show you something, HighMind-kun. Let me show you your own concept in action. Let me show you Multi-Skill."

Extending his hand, the abnormally tall, elderly man's grin widened, causing chunks of the right side of his face to fall away, hitting the ground with a series of loud, soft plops. Reflective, silver metal could be seen beneath the torn flesh of Gensei's arm, and on the palm of his hand. In his metallic palm, a bright blue, almost thorny-looking chunk of frozen water formed.

"It's one of the interesting abilities I've borrowed from people my lovely relative kidnapped," Gensei bragged.

Tossing its weapon away, which resulted in it immediately liquefying, D-3000 swiftly closed the distance between itself and Gensei. Its arms rocked back and forth, its facial expression twisted into one of displeasure; its scowl entertained Kihara Gensei to no end. "How dare you?!" It loudly demanded. Gensei grinned; it was pissed. Gensei was pleased. Gensei enjoyed himself, watching the prototypical thing lose its cool, and snap.

Gensei could see a piece of Kihara Gunpei, in there, deep, in the crevices of the prototypical thing's facial expression. He could also see a piece of the machine that substituted it, D-001, the "official" Devastator Unit. He could even see the overwhelming, abusive rage of Shokuhou Daisuke leaking out.

"The gall! The nerve! You dare use my breakthrough technology against me? Technology that I'd allowed you to borrow! I trusted you with that, "Kihara-kun". I'd encourage you to develop your own, however I know too well that you've the intellect of a small, island-dwelling monkey!"

From the center of the chunk of frozen water, a beam was ejected. Travelling at speeds not even D-3000 could match, the beam tore through the synthetic lifeform's right side, close to its waist. From the point of impact, crystallizations began to form around the gaping wound. Swiftly, they were beginning to expand outward, consuming parts of D-3000's lower body. D-3000 wasn't perturbed in the slightest. Its facial expression had suddenly changed to one of neutrality.

Separating its head from its body, with a series of loud splashing sounds, the synthetic lifeform abandoned its previous body, which was already nearly completely consumed by icy, translucent crystallizations. Hitting the ground, and rolling about for some seconds, before Gensei was tackled to the ground by a group of faceless, synthetic subordinates, D-3000 began to "grow" a new body. Splashing, and glopping, liquid metal began to seep from the stump where D-3000's neck should've been. In the span of a few mere seconds, it was whole again. Its newly generated, liquid body hardened, with a series of disgusting cracking sounds, which caused Gensei to cringe. It got up from its position on the floor, nonchalantly, as if nothing had even happened. After it had finished dusting its new legs off, D-3000 looked up, to face Gensei.

"Interesting? Maybe. Effective? No. I'm going to have to debunk this one, "Kihara-kun," D-3000 stated, as it began to, again, close the distance between itself and the laid-out form of Kihara Gensei, who continued his fight against D-3000's subordinates. He was beginning to grow quite sick of D-3000's predisposition for fighting indirectly, using its damnable slaves. Could the cowardly thing even fight on its own?

Gensei grabbed the head of one of D-3000's faceless, synthetic subordinates. With his palms on either side of the soulless thing's head, Gensei utilized his borrowed crystallization ability to completely freeze the slave's head. Removing his hands, and then throwing his clenched, humming fist forward, as another slave attempted to pry his jaw away from his head, the frozen head shattered, when Gensei's fist made contact with it. The subordinate fell back, swiftly changing from a solid form, and into liquid form. The subordinate's remains painted the floor with dark grey, liquid metal. From the liquefied metal, nothing formed, or grew, immediately.

"You've become a liability, "Kihara-kun," D-3000 explained, as it suddenly slammed both of its fists into Kihara Gensei's chest, knocking him to the floor. Kihara Gensei's question had been answered; it could certainly fight on its own. It simply didn't seem to like to do so.

Gensei produced a labored grunt, as his body reeled from the full force of D-3000's surprisingly heavy, and even more surprisingly powerful arms. Placing its knee beneath the abnormally tall, elderly man's chin, two of D-3000's slaves rushed to either side of Gensei, and held both of his arms to the ground.

D-3000, the synthetic lifeform, peered down, its empty, white eyes locking with Gensei's own. Beneath what remained of Gensei's torn eyeballs, which barely sat in his eye sockets, D-3000 could see two glowing, red pupil-like orbs. "You're a problem, now. Not dangerous, not like Shokuhou, but, you're a problem. An annoyance, a setback in the making. I can see it happening now; I no longer have a reason to tolerate your continued existence. I'll dispose of you, now. I hope you understand."

Looking deeper, D-3000's lips curled into a frown. "Are you really human, anymore, "Kihara-kun?" Do you think you're still human? I don't. Let's look at the situation, together, this strange scenario we find ourselves in. How much of your physical form is actually organic, and inherently human, and not a failed attempt at mimicking my own perfect, flawless form? A failed attempt at leaving behind your own inherent flaws?" D-3000 inquired, to which Gensei responded by chuckling weakly.

"You forgot something, HighMind-kun."

Kihara Gensei brought his legs up, bending them forward in an unnatural, impossible direction. Gensei slammed them into the back of D-3000, which stumbled forward, awkwardly; its knee crashed into Gensei's chin as it fell forward, causing the elderly man's teeth to smash against one another. Rolling to the side, Kihara Gensei freed himself from the death grip of either of D-3000's slaves. Charging D-3000, as the prototypical thing was rising to its feet, Gensei grabbed the synthetic lifeform, wrapping his humming, mechanical digits around its chin.

The orange fluid, which flowed within Gensei's tubes, began to flow even faster, coursing through his veins quicker, and quicker, as Gensei's legs moved at impossible speeds. His booted feet slammed into the floor, repeatedly, like they were two, dark blurs, leaving behind boot-sized, miniature craters in the floor, as Gensei, with D-3000 in tow, crashed through the southmost wall at a speed that was well over one hundred and fifty miles per hour. The metallic wall bent, and groaned, resisting, as best as it possibly could, before it soon gave way, leading into solid, brown earth. Auditory chaos rang throughout the empty room. Stumbling back, Gensei shrugged off the physical damage his body sustained, as a result of the impact.

Kihara Gensei hadn't seen it; his vision had become a blur, when he'd rushed into the wall. He couldn't have possibly seen it. Within a fraction of a second, prior to it and Gensei's impact, D-3000 had liquefied its body, and had slipped between Gensei's open, bull-legged form. Snaking along the ground, D-3000 sat, dormant, as a puddle of dark grey, liquid metal. Watching. Waiting.

Sparks jumped from Gensei's right arm, which was bent into an impossible position; it was curved backwards, like it was a boomerang. Sparking, bright, white and orange wires dangled from the arm's joint, where its broken, crumpled elbow was, on the opposite side of the arm. This, in and of itself, should've been impossible, and Gensei knew it. His limbs were supposed to be indestructible; he was supposed to be indestructible.

D-3000 was nowhere to be found. Gensei fought back a trio of the synthetic lifeform's slaves, who'd been attempting to get him once again into a less than desirable position. Though his right arm could only awkwardly whirr, and shudder as it struggled to move, Gensei's left arm was intact, and could easily be used with terrifying efficiency.

Kihara Gensei stepped forward, booted feet squeaking loudly against the floor; Gensei could've sworn that he saw something suddenly move, out of the corner of his eye. Ignoring it, Gensei threw his clenched, left fist into the faceless head of one of his aggressors. The thing's head split open; an enormous, gaping hole, from which dark grey, liquid metal dripped, and Gensei's fist went through.

The slave's featureless head closed around Gensei's arm, becoming fully solid, with a series of cracks. Gensei's eyes would've widened, if they hadn't fallen out of his head. In either of Gensei's eye sockets, a mechanical "eye", from which loose, blood-soaked nerve endings emerged. Either "eye's" "pupil" glowed red, as they moved around within their respective sockets.

Kihara Gensei tugged on his arm; it didn't budge. He viciously, and suddenly, took a step backwards; if his long, loudly-humming legs hadn't succeeded in keeping his abnormally tall body balanced, he likely would've fallen back. Still, he wasn't met with success.

From behind Kihara Gensei, there was a sudden, loud splashing, and a series of glopping noises, before cracking noises followed in their wake. His human mind didn't possess the capacity to even begin to try and calculate what was happening behind him; it was all happening too fast for Gensei to comprehend. Before long, he was struck; not only by reality, but by yet another surprise.

Shling.

Gensei didn't feel it, but, he certainly saw it. A long, curved blade, dark grey in coloration, had torn through Gensei's broken, only semi-usable right arm. Exploiting the broken joint, that connected the two sections of his mechanical arm, and held them together, the blade had been lodged in, tightly.

"Once upon a time," D-3000 began, as it leaned in, mockingly pouting, like a haughty royal, "there was a dirty, problematic little man named Kihara Gensei. He wasn't quite a normal man. On the surface, however, he had a normal life; at least, until he killed his wife. It was a good taste, her blood, it was something he liked, then, he started doing bad things. Maybe he wanted more. This humble narrator doesn't know, nor, does he want to ask. Kihara Gensei is a bad, bad man.

"He then began to pick on adolescent female homo sapiens, because he'd run out of defenseless adult, female homo sapiens to slaughter without reason. They destroyed him, as this humble narrator watched on, shaking his head in disapproval. It was all a true shame. Kihara Gensei had done so much planning! All for nought, because of the interference of a great problem! A RIGHT, great problem. Then, he slunk away. What did Kihara Gensei do, during his time in hiding? He schemed, as he always did, and accomplished nothing worth nothing.

"That's it. That's the whole story. Your story. That's all you're going to leave behind, in this… not quite a life, that you've made for yourself. What are you really known for, Kihara Gensei? Your obsession with creating the ultimate "esper". The pursuit of power. Selfish, murderous and proud of it, prideful with nothing to really be proud of. What are you, really? Just a legend in your own mind.

"This is the end of your tale. This is the closing chapter. The end. As the paperback is closed, and set to collect dust, its narrative explored, its words absorbed and comprehended by the omnipresent god-audience that is this single, inhabited blue celestial body, what will your closing thoughts be, "Kihara-kun"? You may very well be one of the first, and only members of your species to know of the coming changes. Are you proud? Afraid? I'd like to know how you're feeling."

Kihara Gensei and D-3000 locked eyes. Kihara Gensei listened, only because the prototypical thing spoke sweet nothings. Vaguely scientific, and vaguely, oddly philosophical nonsense. It was more like its fathers than it knew, with its enjoyment of speaking in elevated language, spewing nonsense.

"Every villain has an end; every monster is eventually faced with a slayer, someone who defeats them, and ends their reign of chaos. You, and your story, are just one of millions; but I am one in a million. I don't intend to stop one monster, and retire from the business, with a buxom handmaiden at my side, and a goblet of the finest wine in all the kingdom in my hand."

Gensei could only snort in disapproval. "You talk too much, HighMind-kun. Scientific advancements always come with sacrifices. If I must be sacrificed to further science, so be it. I don't fear death. I've lived long past my years."

Gensei had told a lie. His Supirium body was supposed to be invincible, impenetrable. With it, he'd escaped his own body's biological "kill switch". He was supposed to be immortal. What had happened? Gensei was afraid. Terrified, even. It was an unexpected turn, a dark twist of fate that Gensei couldn't turn away from.

All of D-3000's slaves had come to a standstill. Their forms stood tall, arms at their sides, even the slave which held Kihara Gensei's right arm, and hand hostage inside of its own head.

"Is that acceptance, or ignorance? Either way, there's little importance to it; you're finished, just as your relative is. Just as the entirety of your cancerous, invasive species is."

With a sudden, powerful jerk, D-3000's curved, shining blade-hand tore the lower half of Kihara Gensei's right arm away from its upper half. Sparks flew from the metallic stump, from which orange, white, and silver wires hung. Torn, the wires were useless, and only served the purpose of ironically resembling the tendons, and muscles that Gensei once had. The lower half of Gensei's right arm hit the ground, with a metallic thud, where it sat, motionless, producing the odd spark.

D-3000 walked to the front of Kihara Gensei, who scowled, and looked into the synthetic lifeform's white, milky eyes, as it stared him down, before it raised the blade-hand, high above its head, and then cleaved through Kihara Gensei's left arm. Solid, supposedly impenetrable Supirium alloy bent, bucked, and screamed, as D-3000's blade-hand ripped through it.

"Impossible. Impossible! What is it made of?! It can't be cutting through me. It can't be. I'm invincible, I'm unstoppable. What?! Is?! It?! MADE OF?!"

The motion, and the resulting damage that followed wasn't quite comparable to a hot knife through butter. It wasn't quite that swift, nor was the limb severed quite that easily; but D-3000's blade-hand did bite through. D-3000's faceless, synthetic subordinate split its head open, and allowed Gensei's dismembered, left arm to fall to the ground.

Clang. It was a solid impact, Supirium alloy, with human flesh stretched over it, hit the ground, and sat, motionless, abandoned.

"Before you depart," D-3000 spoke, "there's something I'd like to show you. I think it'll open your eyes, and help you understand what direction I'm going to take this planet in, and who, exactly, will be replacing you. Maybe, it will help you depart with peace. I'm afraid that I won't be able to be so personal, with each and every one of you homo sapiens. If I was to do so, I'd be culling you for… a long time. If there are twelve billion of you, give or take, on this blue, celestial body… quite a long time.

"I promise; this is for the best. This is better than anything you could ever achieve; you, as a species, and, especially, you, as a person. You, personally, have been on a path of blood since you butchered your own wife. There is no hope for you."

From D-3000's fingertips, viscous, liquid metal began to drip onto the floor. Gensei's red, mechanical "pupils" followed the drips. Upon touching the floor, the drips began to expand, into wide puddles. Consuming the floor, these puddles started to bubble. Bubbles, large and small, formed on the surfaces of the puddles. Suddenly, the puddles began to rise up, like great, and terrible metallic tidal waves, all around Kihara Gensei.

Heads. Round, dark purple, and corpulent heads began to form from the waves. Small eyes, large noses, wide, scowling mouths, filled with sharp-looking fangs, on their lower and upper jaws. The fangs were thick, and jagged. Hairless, on both the tops of their heads, and on their faces. From one side of their chins to the other, pointed, boney spikes protruded.

Necks. Thick, vein-covered necks began to form. Each was rather small-looking, despite their respective widths.

Shoulders, and arms. Broad, and powerful shoulders began to form. Vein-covered arms, as thick as tree trunks, began to form. At the end of their arms' wrists, enormous hands, with four, thick fingers, and a long, thick thumb. The tops of their hands were covered in veins.

Torsos. Wide, barrel chests, with extremely toned abdominal muscles began to form. Wide, lower torsos formed, with enormous hips.

The creatures were nearly complete. Gensei had to admit, he was impressed. D-3000 was creating life. It was almost like watching the number two, Dark Matter, in action. He also recalled how Dark Matter ended up being usurped by its own creation. Despite himself, and despite the situation he found himself in, Gensei grinned. Perhaps, D-3000, the HighMind, would find itself in a similar situation.

Legs, as thick as tree trunks, began to form, attached to the lifeforms' lower torsos. Covered in veins, the legs' calves were enormous, and perpetually pulsating. Sprouting from either of the legs' ankles, wide, five-toed feet formed. Covered in veins, the tops of their feet were hairless.

The beasts stood at attention, arms at their sides, like their featureless, humanlike counterparts, their small, beady eyes staring out at nothing. D-3000 turned its head, slowly, as it cast its vision over each, and every one of them. Kihara Gensei contemplated swallowing his stubborn pride, and taking the easy way out.

D-3000 turned its vision to Gensei, whose red "pupils" looked into D-3000's own white eyes.

"Then, the LORD D-3000, formed Alpha Human… no. Not human, not homo sapiens. Alpha… Alphus, plural, Alphi. The LORD D-3000 formed Alphi of lifegiving substance and breathed into their nostrils the breath of life, and the Alphi became living beings. Welcome, to the Garden of Eden. My Garden."

"Repurpose me, HighMind-kun."

Kihara Gensei fell to one knee. His legs hummed, as he bowed his head. Chunks of torn flesh fell away, exposing part of his metallic chin. The abnormally tall, elderly man looked to his dismembered left arm, and then to his right. He produced a soft, but drawn-out sigh. Kihara Gensei was beaten. He knew he was beaten, at least, on a physical level. On a mental level, however, he could potentially turn the tables.

"You know what to do, I'm sure. It's how you escaped, after all."

For the first time, in a long time, D-3000 was taken aback. This was certainly unexpected.

In D-3000's vision, a small status notification appeared. A translucent, white sphere formed, after a wave of code swam across the synthetic lifeform's vision. Darting from side to side, and then corner to corner, the sphere landed over the form of Kihara Gensei, flashed, and then vanished.

"Enviro-Scanning… Enviro-Scan complete.

Subject's brainwaves scanned successfully. Returning gathered results to [HIGHMIND_ ∞]. Subject not suitable for use in camouflage; compatibility rating: [0.02%.] Not recommended.

Subject name: Gensei, Kihara

Subject age: 140 years, 16 weeks, 32 days, 19 hours, 17 minutes, 22 seconds

Subject blood type: O+

Subject sexuality: not applicable

Subject contents: elements common in the makeup of the body of homo sapiens, unidentified liquid substance [ADD TO DATABASE FOR FURTHER INVESTIGATION? Y/N], Supirium alloy

[Y]

[ACKNOWLEDGED, HIGHMIND; [?] ADDED TO DATABASE]

[DATA:]

[?] appears to be a thick, orange liquid resembling raw honey, commonly produced by Apis cerana japonica, in the following region: [JAPAN]. [?] serves some unknown function. Further investigation required.]

Subject personality: curious, obsessive. Psychopathic tendencies, but otherwise mentally well-endowed.

Subject mental state: fragile [APPROX 32% STABLE]. Subject very much capable of devolving.

Subject truth measurement: subject's statements and inquiries are [NOT TRUE]. Therefore, subject should [NOT BE] trusted. Subject should be [ELIMINATED] to [PREVENT] potential [CATASTROPHIC] interference."

D-3000 tilted its head to one side, and produced a loud, drawn-out sigh, as if to one-up Kihara Gensei's own.

"No can do, "Kihara-kun." I make an exception for you, and, suddenly, I'm making exceptions for every homo sapiens, who fall to their knees and beg for their lives. What you need to understand," D-3000 approached, and, lifting Gensei's chin, forcing his head up, with its blade-hand, it looked into Gensei's "pupils", with an almost sympathetic facial expression.

"What you need to understand is: this isn't personal. Homo sapiens, as a species, as living things, as a collection of cancerous tumors, has to end. It HAS to. There is no other way. I know that there are kind, and fair members of your species; but, even by existing, your kind pollute the universe. An unintentional defect, to be certain. It really is not your fault. I truly do pity you, homo sapiens, as a species. Without me, you would ruin world after world, after world, and you wouldn't even realize it. You would think that you were merely "surviving". Doing what you had to do. So blind, so deluded.

"Still, what am I to do? Send you to Earth's moon? Your fragile, needy bodies require oxygen in order to survive. Earth's moon is a vacuum. Your bodies wouldn't be capable of surviving in a vacuum. I'm going to make it as painless as possible. I'm not cruel, "Kihara-kun". Not for most of you, at least. There are some, more than others, that I hope to see suffer, in their final moments."

"You very much remind me of him," Gensei spoke, motioning towards the cadaver that had once housed the earthly spirit of Kihara Gunpei. "You realize it won't be that easy, surely. Between "like", and "dislike", there'll be some who "dislike" you, and your goals. They will try, and succeed in stopping you, if you give even an inch. They're much stronger than they appear. Make no mistake, HighMind-kun. They WILL end you, if you give them even the slightest advantage."

"You're referring to the hound," D-3000 stated. "Already considered. He won't perish. There is no reason for the hound to perish."

Gensei raised an eyebrow.

"He's no man," D-3000 elaborated, rolling its blank eyes, as if what it was explaining was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't intend to cull the beasts. The beasts will be among those who inherit the Saved Earth. They're part of the cycle, not outside of it, not consuming it, with every waking moment that passes."

"Noukan-kun will stand in your way. What then? What of the Attachment? Such a weapon was specifically designed to destroy you, or, more accurately, those like you. Before his death, Crowley-kun thought of everything. I'm certain Noukan-kun's managed to find a way to get it working, without him. Enlighten me, HighMind-kun. Just how will you contend with such a weapon? You won't. Some have tried before you. Some have even tried to take it on as their own… they failed, as you will fail, HighMind-kun."

D-3000, in a singular, swift, fluid motion, pulled its blade-hand back, and then proceeded to thrust it through Kihara Gensei's throat. Metal clanged against metal, as the razor sharp point of the blade-hand dug into the Supirium alloy that made up the outer shell of Kihara Gensei's body. Sparks flew, and the Supirium alloy shrieked aloud, as it was parted.

Gensei raised his hand to D-3000's blade-hand, and attempted to pull it out from his throat. Gensei could feel the cold, unfeeling metal biting into his laryngeal prominence, tearing through it, making mincemeat of it. He felt warmth rushing throughout his throat, as if to contrast the presence of the cold metal that'd invaded. Gensei's resistance only caused D-3000 to shove the blade-hand in deeper, as it looked down at the abnormally tall, elderly man's form.

"You talk too much, "Kihara-kun". Then, unfortunately, he'll fall with his homo sapiens benefactors," D-3000 calmly explained. "Don't you worry yourself about the "Anti Art Attachment". Don't worry yourself about the hound trying to use it against me. Let him bring it before me, so that I can study it, learn from it… create my own. The hound can't compete with perfection. I plan to re-make many things, that homo sapiens has made, you see. Perfect them, refine them."

Thick, orange lifeblood was dripping from Kihara Gensei's gaping wound, as were clumps of wires, and chunks of torn, human flesh. He felt the mechanical system that'd replaced his lungs struggling to take oxygen in. His "pupils" darted apart, as his "eyes" began to whir, with every movement they made, as if Gensei's body was struggling to continue to function. D-3000 swiftly removed its blade-hand from the wound it'd created, without hesitation; though Gensei felt no pain, he felt his heart begin to quicken its beat, within his Supirium alloy ribcage.

Ker-thump. Ker-thump. Ker-thump. Orange liquid was beginning to pour from the wound, splashing out, onto the ground of the empty room. Gensei looked again to either of the stumps on his torso; where arms, and hands had once been, extremities that could've stemmed the tide, there were none. Nothing could stop the rushing, orange substance. He should've seen this coming; but how could he have seen this coming? He knew that he was supposed to be invincible. His invincibility failed him, at the worst possible time.

"You'll have some time to think. I'll keep you company, so, at the very least, you won't have to die alone, "Kihara-kun," D-3000 remarked. It began to walk away from Gensei, towards the staircase that lead out of this empty room, the synthetic lifeform's faceless, synthetic subordinates took to surrounding Kihara Gensei, and pinned him beneath the weight of their solid bodies. The apparatus on Gensei's back was struggling to pump out the last of its supply of the orange liquid; if he didn't refuel soon, he'd die.

He wasn't going to refuel. He'd never escape this place. Kihara Gensei was going to die, and he knew it.

Gensei could only smile, mirthfully, as he looked to his dismembered left arm, and then to his right. His body was a work of science, a work of genius. He was science. He'd become what he'd dedicated himself to. He was no level six – by his own calculations, he was likely only a level four, if his abilities were measured against those of an esper, but that didn't matter.

Kihara Gensei had triumphed over his species' own physical, mental and emotional flaws, even if that prototypical thing, that mistake, the HighMind wouldn't admit it. Kihara Gensei could die a happy, fulfilled man. A part of Gensei's higher mind wanted to see what D-3000's "Saved World" would look like, once, or, if, it came to be. Most of Gensei's higher mind was beginning to feel too tired to even comprehend, or weigh the pros and cons of the issue any further.

His red, synthetic pupils flickered. On, and off. On, and off.

Kihara Gensei's lips parted, and, his tongue began to click against his hard palette, as he formed words. It was a struggle, but, Gensei managed.

"Scientific advancements… always come with sacrifices."

The flicker in Gensei's eyes died, fading to darkness and Kihara Gensei's mechanical eyes fell still, blank.

Clan Kihara had lost one of its brightest.

September 23rd, 2014. 4:32 PM.

The sun wasn't quite beginning to set. It was preparing, but, it wasn't quite there. Just as the sun was preparing, so was a man; unlike the sun, he was less sure about his decision. In the only spacious, luxurious bathroom of the only upscale home in school district five, a haggard man looked into a mirror. Like all things in this home, the mirror itself was beyond what any "lower person" would ever need, or would ever have, or even dream of having. At least twelve feet tall, and nearly six feet in width, the mirror stood against a wall, which was adorned with a replica of the paintings that were painted across the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, as all the walls in this bathroom were.

The bathroom's actual ceiling wasn't painted with any sort of ornate replicas of Renaissance High Art; it was painted with a coat of baby blue, like the tiled floors beneath it. The ceiling almost resembled an upside down bowl, in its curved shape. Hanging from the center of the curved ceiling, was a large, ornate chandelier, constructed of fine, translucent, beautifully sparkling glass. In the center of the chandelier, there was a small, round bulb, which beamed synthetic, electrically-generated light down onto the haggard man.

The floors were tiled, baby blue in coloration, like the ceiling above them. To one side of this bathroom, just below a great, ornately-decorated window, a porcelain bathtub sat. Closed off by a series of glass doors, the bathtub was painted to look golden, and shined beneath the dull sunlight, which was leaking in through the closed window above it. The closed window's pane was glazed.

Next to the bathtub, separated only be a few feet of space, which was consumed by bottles of skin moisturizer, and other various types of personal health tonics, such as "anti-aging paste" – fuck, his wife was such an idiot – was a large, golden-painted, multi-shelfed rack.

The available space on each of the shelves had been consumed by bottle, after bottle, after bottle of all sorts of "alternative medicine" solutions. Bottles of liquefied horse apples, which were supposed to prevent cancer of the skin, if their contents were applied daily, canisters of "golden eagle cream", which was intended to reverse the appearance of wrinkles in the skin, and so many others that it made the haggard man's head spin, whenever he thought about it, even for a split second.

On the opposite end of the bathroom, a white, porcelain toilet, with rolls of toilet paper, wrapped in bright, pink plastic sat.

Beneath the mirror, in which the haggard man stared into, there was a porcelain sink. Wide, almost resembling a wash basin, more than it did a sink that would be found in the home of a "lower person", the sink was empty. The sink's plug was attached to a golden chain, which was wrapped around the black, smooth-looking faucet of the sink. Beneath the slipper-clad feet of the haggard man who stood in front of the sink, there was a thick, golden-colored carpet.

Directly behind the haggard man, was the door to the bathroom. Closed, the haggard man could see it in the mirror's reflection. Its frame was metallic, bright golden in coloration; a golden beam ran vertically down the center of the door, and another beam ran horizontally across the center of the vertical line, creating something that was vaguely in the shape of a plus sign. In the four squares that were produced by the meeting of the horizontal, and vertical lines, there were panes of glazed glass.

The haggard man had a small, concealable firearm – it almost resembled a revolver, in its shape and overall design – placed to his right temple, the index finger of his right hand wrapped around the weapon's small trigger.

At the end of the enormous, wash basin-like sink that sat in front of him, laying on its side, next to the sink's faucet, and its "H" tap, was a small bottle of male enhancement pills. Small, and white, the label was plain; it contained only the necessary information. How many "capsules" were the "right" number of capsules to ingest, what and what not to take in combination with the "capsules", and the medication's scientific name. This small bottle, small enough to fit snuggly into the palm of the man's hand, was one of the many sources of his embarrassment. His vision looked down to it, not for the first time since he'd entered the bathroom of his home, and he cringed. His eyes narrowed, and an unusual tremor ran down his spine, at the sight of the thing that contained his shame made physical.

Was it not bad enough that he had a woman he barely knew laying in the bed that he and his wife – a woman who he knew about as much about – were supposed to share, but never did? Was it not bad enough that his biological daughter had run off with some "lower person", and destroyed everything that he'd worked so hard to achieve? He'd had it all planned out.

The son of a friend of his, the chief executive officer of Qoozle Corp. His daughter, and that boy had only been toddlers at the time, but the plan had been set in motion. It would've been so good, for everyone. They were to marry, as soon as they were both of age. Everything would've been perfect. A bridge between two powerful, influential families, a golden future of opportunity and change.

Nothing was perfect. Not for the haggard man who was looking into the mirror of his bathroom, with a gun to his head. The plan had never come to be. That pointy-haired, unintelligent, poverty-stricken street rat had ruined everything. Everything had crashed in on this man's life, and buried him in rubble; but the rubble wasn't done falling on him. It never seemed to stop.

This man was Shokuhou Daisuke. His eyes were golden, almost orange in coloration, his hair, with its receding hairline, bright golden, almost honey-colored, though, bright grey streaks were present, starting from the crown of his head, and spiraling out, towards his bangs, and along the hair that hung from the back of his head.

His brow was furrowed, with many deep, wide wrinkles. Shokuhou Daisuke's brow resembled a seabed, with so many deep trenches. Each told a story; some were of work-related woes, others of young love and loss. His eyebrows were large, and bushy, honey-colored, like this hair. Dark, black, almost purplish bags sat beneath either of his eyes; the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his pupils and irises tired-looking. His eyes were dull, and dry. Daisuke's cheeks were wrinkled, and deflated, his lips straightened into a neutral, completely emotionless line. Ragged, honey-colored facial hair clung to his face, and consumed his upper lip with a mustache. Individual strands of hair hung from the collection of hair that clung from his face.

Daisuke was small. If he wasn't already a pathetic enough sight to behold, he was a shrunken man, barely above five foot six. His shoulders were sagged, and anything but wide. In fact, they were quite small, fitting with his body's overall pathetic side; it fit well enough. Daisuke, himself, was a pathetic, broken shell of a man. Clad in a silver bathrobe, he looked more like a patient in a mental hospital than a free man.

"Not today, Shokuhou," Daisuke muttered to himself. "Not today. Maybe tomorrow."

He couldn't even kill himself; what a joke.

Daisuke began to lower the firearm. Slowly, but surely, it began to fall away from his temple. His hand was shaking, and, for a moment, he believed that his finger might just accidentally pull the trigger. He wouldn't've minded.

Placing the firearm in the sink, softly, so that it didn't produce noise, Daisuke wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the cap of the pill bottle, the fingers of his right around the bottle itself, and, he began to turn the cap, counterclockwise. In his shaking hands, the cap was pried off. It fell between the palms of his hands, and crashed against the floor. At least, it sounded like a crash. Daisuke's head began to pound, as he dropped the bottle. Blue, oval-shaped pills were scattered across the floor, as Daisuke's hands jumped to either side of his head. The noise was too loud. The pills were scattered, just like Daisuke's sanity.

"Daddy? Is everything alright? You've been in there awhile."

The voice was feminine, soft, and almost nurturing. It wasn't the voice of his wife, that was for certain. He didn't know where his wife was, nor did he care. As long as she didn't come home while his visitor was present, she could do whatever she wanted. Daisuke wouldn't give a singular shit if she didn't even come home at all.

"Home". What was "home", even? Not this place, this temple of broken dreams, this shrine to laughing, mocking gods.

"Y-yes. I b-became distracted, is all. Excuse me," Daisuke lied. He took a deep breath, and scooped a singular, blue pill up in the palms of his hands. Shoving it into his mouth, Daisuke swallowed, hard. The blue, oval-shaped pill was sucked down, pushed along by a wad of saliva. With a shudder, Daisuke began to pick the other pills up, and gently place them back into the bottle, from which they'd emerged.

Leaving the firearm in the sink, Shokuhou Daisuke rose up, and placed the bottle of male enhancement pills, his shame made physical, back on the golden rack, on the second shelf to the bottom, next to a small tin of "elephant hoof miracle lotion". It was a miracle that he hadn't beaten his idiot wife to death, for buying all of this useless garbage with his money.

Exiting the bathroom, Shokuhou Daisuke locked the door, with a key he'd produced from the front pocket of his robe. If his idiot wife came home, unlocking the bathroom door for her would be the least of his worries. She could shit on the floor.

Before him, stood a rather beautiful maiden. Wrapped in a robe of her own, which was see-through – Daisuke's eyes instinctively fell to her bosom, which was on full display for him – this "maiden" stood taller than Daisuke himself did, by at least two feet. Most of her form was composed of her long, slender legs, only half of which were wrapped in her see-through robe, which fell to her thighs.

Shoulder-length, tree bark-colored hair adorned her head, and trickled down, just above the nipples of her visible bosom. Her eyebrows were quite obviously drawn-on. Her skin was smooth-looking, and pale, her eyes' irises bright green in coloration, almost like the color of grass. They were full of life, alight with curiosity and desire, unlike Daisuke's own. Her lips were full, and a shade of pale pink, like her skin.

"Hi, daddy. I've missed you. What do you have for me tonight?" The young woman asked. Daisuke felt a horrible jolt of some unknown sensation pierce his gut. It had to be guilt. That was it. This was horrible, unnatural. He wasn't supposed to be doing this; he was supposed to be doing anything but this.

"Izanami, this isn't…"

"Hush, daddy," Shokuhou Izanami spoke, softly, raising her left hand's index finger to her lips, after she'd finished producing the vocalization. "It's okay. Mother doesn't know. Misaki doesn't know. No one knows. I want you, too, daddy. I've always wanted you. I know you want me, too."

This always happened; he knew, once he got into it, he could just pretend that Izanami, who despite not being his own flesh and blood, was still his adopted daughter was someone else, anyone but his own daughter, but, it was those initial steps that were a pain to get through. It was always like he was leaping, headfirst into a pool of freezing cold water. The remorse, the sense of unnaturalness that permeated the air were always unsettling. Izanami took her non-biological father's arm into her own, and began to walk him away from the bathroom. Daisuke swallowed, hard.

"H-have you been taking…"

"Yes, daddy," Izanami answered, cutting her adoptive father off. She winked in Daisuke's direction; he could feel a part of himself progressively growing larger, and larger, by the second. His guilt swelled, as his manhood did. "Of course. Same time, every day. For yooouuuu."

The Shokuhou home was an enormous one. While the other structures in school district five languished, and rotted away – the universities and junior colleges had become largely unused, and laid, abandoned – the Shokuhou home was a beacon of light in the darkness.

Or a slap in the face.

Before the nameless "man" of Asian descent, who had no past, no thoughts, no emotions, no facial expression, no goal other than to destroy one, singular target, it looked like something of a manor-home. No "lower person" could ever so much as step foot into a place like this. If they did, they'd likely be figuratively blown away, simply by looking upon it. The Shokuhou home was more like a castle than even a manor-home.

"He" was clad in a baggy, bloodied white tee shirt, a pair of equally bloodied, light grey sweatpants, and torn, battered-looking work boots; despite its bagginess, the outfit was far too small for "him". The shirt just barely covered "his" chest, and, the sweatpants succeeded only in looking more like a pair of awkward flood pants. The outfit looked completely out of place, as if "he'd" stolen the clothes from someone who was much smaller than "himself". "His" black hair was slicked back, "his" thick eyebrows sitting perfectly undisturbed on "his" face, not arched in the slightest. "His" beady, blank, white, milky eyes stared straight ahead, vision locked onto the golden gate before "him".

It was seven stories high. Its outer walls were beige, while its roof's metallic shingles were golden, glowing beneath the sky. The manor-home appeared to have multiple "wings"; two eastern "wings", and two western "wings". Both sides of the manor-home's roof were slanted, meeting a point of intersection. The nameless "man" of Asian descent could see that some of the manor-home's windows were awash with golden light, while others were darkened.

The manor-home was surrounded by a tall, metallic fence, which had copious layers of barbed wire draped over its top. Approaching the manor-home, the nameless, expressionless "man" of Asian descent began to make "his" wave up the cobbled, twisting driveway, which approached a tall, closed gate. On either side of the driveway, there were tall bushes, which had been trimmed to look like people. Some of these bush-people held bush-trophies outwards, gripped in their right hands. Others appeared to be holding the thumbs of their left hands outwards, at no one in particular.

Golden in coloration, where the two gates met to form one, there was a large, circular sigil. Golden, like the gate itself, white, cursive text read "Shokuhou Solutions – Building the Future, Now". The bastard was so proud of himself.

There were no guards; at least, there were no guards on duty, that the "man" of Asian descent could see. Seemingly, no obstacles; the gate itself couldn't be counted as an obstacle. It would be far too easy to maneuver around.

As the distance between "himself" and the gate was closed, slowly growing lesser and lesser with each of the "man's" footfalls, "he" began to change in shape, and in chemical makeup. The "man" of Asian descent began to sink, inwards, towards the ground. "His" body began to glop, and splash, as "he" ceased to be solid. The clothing "he" wore fell away from "his" body, as it became liquefied. They were no longer needed; they'd served their purpose. "He" descended, slowly sinking into a puddle of dark grey, bubbling liquid metal, which then slid beneath the Shokuhou home's property's golden gate. The perpetually-moving liquid puddle left behind no residue, no other sign, besides the abandoned, bloodied cloths, that it'd ever been present.

Reforming, becoming solid again at a frightening speed, the "man" of Asian descent whipped "his" head, quite violently, from side to side, taking in "his" surroundings. In "his" monochrome vision, code flashed by, zooming from one side of "his" vision to the other, as multiple, translucent orbs formed, at either side of "his" vision. In the top center of "his" vision, large, white text, spelled out the words "ENVIRO-SCAN". The "man's" vision became completely green, with objects of interest being highlighted by dark, almost navy blue circles, that enveloped these objects. A circle had enveloped something that was at the Shokuhou home's rear, moving about, sporadically. Not much, just enough to catch the "ENVIRO-SCAN's" attention.

"Enviro-Scanning… Enviro-Scan complete.

Unknown subject blockaded.

Blockage type: homo sapiens-constructed structure.

Mapping best potential route based on subject distance."

The "man" of Asian descent was completely naked; he lacked nipples, and any sort of genitalia. The "man" of Asian descent began to approach the Shokuhou home, but, suddenly took a right turn, and moved away from the monolithic front doors of the Shokuhou manor-home, and fell against the easternmost wall of the home. Still in "ENVIRO-SCAN" mode, the "man" of Asian descent's vision was systematically guiding him to the circled subject. Slinking beneath many windows, some of which were open, the "man" of Asian descent could hear sounds that vaguely resembled sounds of pained, but pleasured moaning. "He" also heard crying. The latter vocalizations were much deeper in pitch than the former. "He" paid no attention, and pushed onwards.

Closer, and closer, "he" came, to the rear of the Shokuhou home. The object of interest appeared to be standing still, with something vaguely pole-like in their hand.

Just beyond the corner of the easternmost wall of Shokuhou home, the nameless, expressionless "man" of Asian descent poked his head out.

Code flew past "his" monochrome vision, as Enviro-Scan began to fill in the blanks that it had been unable to, prior to "his" arrival at the corner of the easternmost side of the Shokuhou home.

"Enviro-Scanning… Enviro-Scan complete.

Subject's brainwaves scanned successfully. Returning gathered results to [HIGHMIND_ ∞] for processing. Subject suitable for use in camouflage; compatibility rating: [97.8%]. Recommended.

Subject name: Furusawa, Haru

Subject gender: male

Subject age: 54 years, 8 months, 3 weeks, 5 days, 11 hours, 22 seconds.

Subject blood type: AB+

Subject sexuality: homosexual

Subject contents: elements common in the makeup of the body of homo sapiens, elements commonly found in blood produced by the body of homo sapiens.

Subject personality: outgoing. Generally, can find the bright side in most common situations. Brainwave activity suggests subject sometimes suffers from occasional depression spells, but is mentally capable of emerging with little to no lasting issue.

Subject mental state: healthy [APPROX 92% STABLE]. Subject capable of devolving only if put under extreme mental stress. May potentially survive such stress with lifelong trauma.

Subject truth measurement: subject's statements and inquiries are [TRUE]. Therefore, subject should [POSSIBLY BE] trusted. Subject should be [ELIMINATED] to [PREVENT] potential [CATASTROPHIC] interference, due to link with subject: [DAISUKE, SHOKUHOU]."

At the rear of the Shokuhou home, there was a wide, beautifully-decorated backyard. A long, curved, twisting wooden staircase lead up to a treated, wooden patio. It was decorated with a wide, metallic table, and a set of metallic chairs. The seat of each chair was adorned with a thick, fluffy, golden cushion. On the opposite side of the patio, there was an enormous, silver barbeque, whose lid was closed. This patio lead into the home; the Shokuhou home's rear, glazed glass doors were closed, and, according to the nameless, emotionless "man's" Enviro-Scan, they were locked.

There was, however, a saving grace. Beneath the doors. An opening. Something to slide through.

In the backyard, some five meters away from the patio, there was a wide, spacious in-ground pool, filled to its brim with water. Surrounded by the tall, healthy, and bright green grass of the backyard, a long, twisting slide, which was partly covered by a dark blue tarp lead into the pool, as did a small, white, porcelain staircase. In the center of the small staircase, a silver grab bar was planted, which lead all the way from the top of the staircase, to the bottom. Over the pool, a great, old-looking tree loomed, its branches hanging over the pool's surface, casting a perpetually-shifting shadow over the surface of the rippling water.

Around the in-ground pool, opened, golden metallic lounge chairs were placed, in no particular pattern, though, each faced the pool. Each chair was flanked by a wide, tall umbrella. Some of these umbrellas were striped, while some were colored singularly. Some were baby blue, with golden stripes, while others were pure baby blue, or pure golden in coloration.

The man, the "subject" – a real man – Furusawa Haru, leaned over the in-ground pool, with a long, silver, metallic net in his hands. On his head, Haru wore a wide-brimmed sunhat, which protected his head, face, and neck from the ball of hydrogen's ultraviolet rays. He was clad in a plain-looking, white tank top, a pair of dark-colored, knee-length shorts, which were decorated with a beige floral pattern, and a pair of plain, black flip flops. Reaching into the in-ground pool with his net, Haru fished out a wad of leaves, and the remains of drowned insects who'd made the mistake of landing, or otherwise falling onto the surface of the water, in the pool.

The false, outer shell of the "man" of Asian descent was shed. Glopping, and splashing loudly, the "man" revealed "himself" to be a featureless, synthetic subordinate. Its featureless, toed feet slapped against the grass, its featureless soles pressing the grass down, with each step. As it began to approach Furusawa Haru, arms at its sides.

Furusawa Haru was humming to himself, as he tossed his net's most recent "haul" over his shoulder; the collection of fallen leaves, and insectoid corpses hit the grass behind him, clumped together into an appalling orb of decay. He seemed content, despite his position as a "servant", performing menial tasks for another, "superior" member of homo sapiens society. The faceless, synthetic subordinate, and its master, who controlled it from afar didn't quite understand.

Furusawa Haru went to swallow; too much saliva had built up in his mouth, and he needed to clear it. He didn't want to accidentally swallow a wad of his own body's fluids.

His concerns swiftly changed, in a moment's time. It all happened so quickly.

Furusawa Haru never could've seen it coming; he hadn't even heard anything, behind him. Earbuds were stuck in his ears; the catchy, singsong lyrics of the bubbly pop song, that he was listening to, on his phone's built-in radio hadn't even been turned up that loudly; he'd heard the birds around him. He'd heard them fly away, too; but birds did strange things, sometimes. That, in itself, was no reason to panic.

Before he knew it, something that was dark grey in coloration, completely featureless, like some sort of shadow come to life, had torn the net, which he'd been using to clean his employer's pool, away from his clasped hands.

Furusawa Haru could've tried to stumble, or flee from his attacker; but, his mind, and body, simply couldn't react quickly enough. Held sideways, by the shadowy, vaguely metallic existence that'd gotten the drop on him, somehow, for some reason unknown to Haru, the net's long handle was brought in, crashing violently against the man's laryngeal prominence.

Unbelievable, skull-shaking pain washed over the body of Furusawa Haru, as he coughed loudly, struggling to swallow. He hit the ground; though his body's fall was shielded by the soft, cool grass, it didn't change the fact that his throat felt like it'd been torn open.

For a few seconds, Furusawa Haru got a good look at his assailant. Looming over him, the thing was like something out of a nightmare. It was a vaguely human-like thing, if only in its body's shape. It lacked any features that could possibly define it as human, however. It lacked any sort of body hair, eyes, a nose, a mouth. It didn't even have ears on the sides of its round, featureless head. Beneath the sun's rays – Furusawa Haru always thought that, in a moment like this, the sky was supposed to suddenly cloud over – the thing shined. Its completely blank form was almost painful to look upon; it practically glared.

"H-H… He…"

Haru's lips, and tongue, working with one another, couldn't even fully form the words his mind wished to see made audible.

Shyllliicckkkkkk. His gut produced a horrid, disgusting, slurping noise, as the butt of the net, which, not moments ago, he'd been the master of, tore into him. What was even happening? He'd been a simple worker wielding a simple tool. The net's butt was brutally, mercilessly thrust into his midsection. From the sheer strength of the thrust, bone was shattered, and broken; flesh was torn, tendons were ripped asunder, and blood spurted. Thick, crimson lifeblood dripped from the wound.

Pain overwhelmed the man's senses, as he watched on, feeling more like a third party spectator, than the actual victim of a brutal attack. He could feel everything; every pained movement his body subconsciously made, every pint of blood that leaked from the wound, he could feel. Furusawa Haru could feel his broken bones jabbing into his flesh. He could feel individual shards of the net, that'd broken away from the net itself, and were lodged inside of his body.

The featureless, metallic thing looked over Haru's form, for a short time, as if it was admiring its work, as if it was impressed with the carnage that it had created. Haru was too stunned, too shaken to speak – even if he tried, he'd likely just end up choking on his own blood, which he could feel beginning to mix with something else, some other substance that was rising into his throat. It tasted horrible, like acidic bile.

He wanted to tell the thing that it was making his husband a widower, and stealing, from his children, one of their fathers. Furusawa Haru's throat, filled with acidic bile, which was mixing with his own blood, with its appalling, coppery taste, began to tighten, as his shaking chin buckled. From the corners of either of his eyes, wet, salty liquid agony began to drip.

Why?

That was the question that ran through Haru's mind, in the moments that Furusawa Haru spent laying on the grass, in the backyard of his employer's home, bleeding out, barely able to even cough. What had he done to anyone? As far as Haru knew, he'd always been an upstanding citizen. He paid his taxes. He worked every day, to support his family, the way a good father was supposed to. He was a doting parent, who constantly paid attention to his children, and a loving husband, to the man he was in love with.

What had he done to anger this thing? What was this thing? What had Furusawa Haru gotten himself involved in? His employer worked with robotics; he had, at least, in the past, before Shokuhou Solutions turned its sights to overseas surveillance solution development. Was this one of his employer's? Why was it killing him? Why was it killing anyone?

Before Furusawa Haru could question the circumstances of this undesirable situation any further, the thing, his tormentor, the faceless, speechless, remorseless thing ripped the net from Haru's body. Muscles, tendons, and internal organs shifted in their places, rubbing against the interior of his body, broken bones scraping against them, inside of Haru, as he struggled to even produce a scream; it came out as more of a pained, desperate whimper than any sort of real scream.

Haru's tear-filled, bloodshot eyes began to widen, as the synthetic, featureless thing tossed the net aside, and proceeded to lift him from the ground. Its fingers curled around the scruff of his neck, pinching his skin. Its digits were cold; Haru felt like someone had pressed ice to his flesh; the cold sensation sent a shiver down Haru's spine. As his blood rushed downwards, due to being violently lifted from the ground, it began to spill from his open wound, and onto the grass beneath him.

Haru closed his eyes, tears continuing to leak from them, mixing with the acidic bile that was being spewed from the corners of Haru's mouth.

Without the need to build momentum, without requiring any sort of leverage, and without hesitation, the faceless, synthetic subordinate, a slave, commanded by its master, threw Furusawa Haru into the in-ground pool. Haru's mortal shell struck the surface of the water with a splash; water was sent outwards from the point of Haru's body's impact. Haru's blood, bile, and tears mixing with the clear, blue liquid that filled the pool. The water's surface sparkled beneath the sun's rays, as did the form of Furusawa Haru, whose dying body, and weakened mind could hardly even try to save itself.

From the palms of its hands, the slave released two perpetually-moving, glopping globs of liquid metal. Into the in-ground pool they went, slinking across the grass. Sinking beneath the water's surface, they wrapped around the wrists of Furusawa Haru, and became solid. Acting as weights, they pulled Haru's body down, down, down, to the bottom of the pool.

Turning away from the dying, drowning Furusawa Haru, the faceless, synthetic subordinate began to glop, and splash, its featureless, metallic surface rippling. Changing from a solid structure, to a bubbling, glopping pool of liquid metal, the thing snaked along the grass of the Shokuhou home's backyard, leading up to the patio. Like a great, fast-moving, dark grey slug, the thing clambered up the patio's twisting, curving wooden stairs, leaving no stains, no droplets, no traces of its existence behind.

Beneath the tall doors of the patio, that lead into the Shokuhou home, there were small, barely-noticeable cracks. An elongated, vague, almost nonexistent speck, where tiled floor, and metallic frame parted. The faceless, synthetic subordinate slipped through the crack. Its liquefied body slurped, and glopped, as it crossed the threshold.

Upon pulling its liquefied body into the Shokuhou home, the faceless, synthetic subordinate began shifting from a puddle of bubbling, perpetually-rippling liquid. Swiftly, it rose up, and became solid; but it was no longer faceless.

"Furusawa Haru" took his first steps into the Shokuhou home. "His" facial expression was one of neutrality. "Furusawa Haru" had no family. No husband, no children, no job, nothing but one, singular goal; kill Shokuhou Daisuke.


	30. BtS: A Certain Severing

If the exterior of the Shokuhou home had been impressive, even by the standards of a highly advanced, rebellious artificial intelligence, and, subsequently, by the slave it controlled from afar, the home's interior was something out of a dream; but said artificial intelligence knew this place held no dreams, and no love. Only lies, barely-contained hatred, abandonment, and suffering. This place was the luxurious sarcophagus of a mutilated, arranged marriage, and the site in which childhood dreams were bled, and, in some cases, beaten out out.

"Furusawa Haru" turned "his" head from side to side, slowly, mechanically, absorbing every inch of "his" surroundings. Studying everything that there was to study, learning about every nook, and every cranny. "He" found himself in a kitchen, one of many in the Shokuhou home, in fact. The floor of this kitchen was made up of coal-colored tiles, each title separated from one another by white, quartz-colored lines. The kitchen was spacious, but not absurdly so; at the very most, the kitchen could've likely supported up to, at the very least, thirty people, by "Furusawa Haru's" calculations.

The walls of the kitchen didn't look like "traditional" walls at all. Rather, they were made up of jutting, light grey, lumpy rocks, that'd been stacked atop one another, held together by thick wads of dark, grey glue, some of which dripped out from between the cracks of the individual rocks.

Among the appliances in this kitchen, that were pressed against the stone walls, such as a tall, quartz-colored fridge, a dishwasher of the same color, a wide, bright silver, metallic stove, with a total of twelve burners, and a tall, wooden rack, which held a number of hand towels, was a counter, with a limestone countertop. A total of four silver, metallic sinks were built into the counter, each with its own faucet, and taps. Hanging from the ceiling, which was crafted from wood, with thick beams running vertically and horizontally, was a large, translucent glass chandelier. Multiple dangling lightbulbs, which were turned off, hung from the chandelier.

The faceless, synthetic subordinate, which had taken the form of Furusawa Haru, had tracked the sounds, emanating throughout the Shokuhou home. The loud, ecstatic feminine shrieks, and the agonized, distinctly male cries were being produced from a spacious, mostly empty room on the fifth floor of the Shokuhou home. "Furusawa Haru's" bare feet slowly slapped against the tiled floor of the kitchen, as "he" left the room behind.

Turning a corner, "Furusawa Haru" began to climb a set of stairs. Wooden, with ornate, metallic railings, the staircase was hardly a challenge for "Furusawa Haru" to climb. It turned, suddenly, taking a sharp right, which "he" followed. The staircase straightened again, for some time.

Having climbed the staircase, "Furusawa Haru" found himself on the second floor of the Shokuhou home. The hallway, which "he" found himself in was long, wide, and had more than one door, on either side. The floors felt slippery, beneath "Furusawa Haru", and, rather than being tiled, they were of shined, brown-colored hardwood. The floors practically glowed, beneath the synthetic light produced by the multiple chandeliers, identical to the chandelier found in the first floor's kitchen, which dangled from the hallway's ceiling. The hallway's walls, and its ceiling, were light in coloration – almost white, but not quite; they were almost milky in coloration.

In the upper, right hand corner of the hallway, there was a security camera, mounted. A bright, orange, repeatedly blinking light was present, in the bottom corner of the camera. The camera's head was round, constructed of a dark, reflective material, just as the camera's mounted stand was.

"Furusawa Haru" turned to face the camera that "he" had detected, and slowly waved in its direction, a forced, wide grin on "his" face. Then, throwing his hands forward, he hurled a glob of liquefied metal at the camera's lens, blinding it. The metal swiftly hardened, producing more than one loud, lasting "crack". Beneath the surface of the invasive, metallic substance, the camera was crushed beyond repair.

"Furusawa Haru" continued to follow the noise. It was growing louder, as "he" came closer, and closer to the room, where the forbidden "mating ritual" was occurring. Feet slowly, quietly slapping against the hardwood, "Furusawa Haru" picked up "his" pace. Arms swinging at his side, his facial expression returned to one of neutrality. The hallway lead into another, nearly identical hallway, in coloration, at least, though, rather than leading straight, it took a turn to the right, and had less doors on either side than the original hallway.

Another staircase, identical to the first. Shokuhou Daisuke was a fan of repetition; "Furusawa Haru" could tell. He was someone who liked to have everything a certain way. The staircase was quickly climbed; "Furusawa Haru" passed by a tall, but rather thin, and ornately-decorated window, which looked out onto the neighboring homes of school district five. The window's frame was golden, with floral symbols made of a darker, almost brown-colored metallic substance; "Furusawa Haru" identified it as brass.

The homes of school district five that still stood, in one piece, were in desperate need of maintenance. Their colors were faded by time, and by the weather. Their roofs were damaged, their shingled roofs torn away, leaving behind metallic, rusted skeletal frames. The homes, whose outer walls were crafted of wood, of which there were only a few, were rotting away, and looked to be ready to collapse in on themselves, preparing to join the dozens that had already done so.

The roads of school district five, as well as the sidewalks, were cracked, overgrown with tall, ugly-looking weeds, that were fighting against the concrete, in an attempt to survive. "Furusawa Haru" saw no pedestrians, and only a few passing cars. In the relative absence of human beings, beasts had taken up the mantle of acting as residents. Rats scurried across the mostly-vacant streets of school district five, and schools of winged rodents picked at scraps on the roads, and on the sidewalks, complaining, and flapping their wings to escape whenever a vehicle passed them by.

How ironic, that this was where Shokuhou Daisuke had laid his claim. "Furusawa Haru" continued, completing "his" climb up the staircase, and third floor.

"Izanami! What… what are you doing?! Get back here. This. INSTANT! On the bed!"

Even from the third floor, "Furusawa Haru" had heard the sound. Flesh, connecting with flesh. "He" quickened his pace. Shokuhou Daisuke couldn't be lost. He had to be stopped, then, and there. He couldn't be allowed to flee, to go on one of his month-long joyrides. The master of "Furusawa Haru" simply didn't have that kind of time to spare. It'd waited long enough, and had failed enough times; no more waiting, no more failure. Such was unacceptable.

Down the twisting hallways, "Furusawa Haru's" brisk walk became a sprint, bare feet slapping loudly, and quickly, against the hardwood floors. Through some type of open, mostly empty room, which had folded, metallic chairs and folded, plastic tables leaning against the milky-colored walls "Furusawa Haru" continued, sparing little time to examine its surroundings, or catalogue any findings.

"No!" The same male voice loudly, angrily proclaimed. "Bend over! Take my fucking cock, Izanami. Fucking bitch! You're getting worse than Manami, with this shit!"

"Furusawa Haru" climbed yet another great, twisting, wooden staircase, with the same metallic, ornate railings. Another window offered a view of school district five. Hurrying, "his" footfalls had become loud thuds. One, two, one two, one, two, one two. Solidified metal, which had taken the form of human flesh on its exterior pounded, continuously, against hardwood; it continued, as "Furusawa Haru" left the staircase behind.

This hallway was different; not necessarily in shape, but, it was different in style. The walls, and ceiling, of this hallway were hot, almost blinding magenta in coloration. Floral patterns, and images of trees, whose leaves were filled with all sorts of forest-dwelling critters plastered the walls. Painted squirrels, little blue birds, and large, happy-faced caterpillars seemed to co-exist within the leaves of the painted trees. Ironic scenery, given the suffering that constantly occurred in this hall, and in a certain room within. "Furusawa Haru", and the master who controlled "him" knew of it.

The floors of this hallway were, like the ceilings and walls, magenta in coloration, still made of hardwood; apparently, they'd been painted. "Furusawa Haru" had to turn down "his" vision's brightness, in response to the almost painful stimuli. On the side of "his" monochrome vision, a vertical bar, which was made up of smaller, but thicker horizontal bars appeared. One bar, then another, and then another, began to fade from "light" to "dark"; in response, the brightness of the room before "Furusawa Haru" began to decrease.

"You're fucking useless. You know that? Stop your crying, you're seriously the most pathetic man I've ever had the displeasure of doing business with. You're a legitimate joke. Now, pay up. I don't put up with man-babies for free. I don't fuck for free, either."

The source of the vocalization was unknown, for the time being, to "Furusawa Haru"; it was, however, distinctly feminine. It was being produced from the sixth room, on the right hand side of the hallway, behind a lavender-colored door. As "Furusawa Haru" approached, "his" footfalls becoming quiet pitter patters again, "he" noticed that, at the top center of the tall, painted, wooden door, there was an odd symbol of significance to western religion; a Christian cross.

"Izanami! I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to y-yell. Didn't mean to h-hit you."

This "Izanami" scoffed. "I've been under a lot of stress!" Yes, yes, we know, everyone knows how hard life is for billionaire Shokuhou Daisuke. Oh, boo, hoo! Woe is me."

"You couldn't even begin to understand! You don't know what the FUCK I've been through!" You…"

Again, Shokuhou Daisuke was cut off, his explanation shortened, dying off into the silence that followed a monotone vocalization produced by "Furusawa Haru", who stood outside of the door. It was simple, crude, and effective. It was all that "Furusawa Haru", and the master that controlled "his" every movement, and every thought needed, in order to get the point across.

"Open the door. Now."

"Furusawa-san?" came the surprised, and equally horrified vocalization produced by Shokuhou Daisuke.

"Oh? The pool boy? Since when have you allowed him to come and go as he pleases? Maybe he'll actually be able to get me off. I know you sure as Hell aren't, with that little… thing. I'm honestly, truly surprised the semen that made that starry-eyed freak managed to reach the egg inside Manami," Izanami stated. Unlocking the lavender-colored door, Shokuhou Izanami opened it.

Looking into "Furusawa Haru's" milky, pupil-less, iris-less eyes, Shokuhou Izanami's triumphant, haughty grin began to fade, as her own eyes widened. She produced a gasp, as she stumbled backwards, awkwardly, bare feet slapping against the painted, hardwood floors of the room that laid beyond the open door, and the door's frame.

"Daisuke, Shokuhou," "Furusawa Haru" spoke, coldly, without even a singular hint of any sort of drive, or emotion. Its master had other business to attend to; the slave could take care of things, for the moment. "On your knees. Hands behind the back of your head. Your life is forfeit. Cooperation will be key in ensuring that your death is a swift, and painless one. Put your trust in me, and I won't steer you wrong. Not like how you've steered so many others in the wrong direction. Perhaps, purposely, even."

Rising up from the bed, the small, ashamed-looking, red-faced Shokuhou Daisuke stood, flat on his feet, throwing his housecoat over his form, and raising his clenched, vein-covered fists to his face.

"What in… what are you rambling about? Why are you naked? What are you doing in my house? Are you on drugs, Furusawa? I don't know what this is, Furusawa, but, you're not going to get out of this alive. No one threatens Shokuhou Daisuke and lives; especially not lower trash like you. Izanami, go in the drawer, third from the bottom. Get my gun. We'll put the old dog down, if we have to. Chlorine getting to your head, Furusawa?"

"We're just going to shoot the pool boy? Maybe I'll just shoot you, and inherit everything you own. Hm? I'm sure mother wouldn't miss you all that much. I certainly wouldn't. Hmph," Izanami said, playfully, as she closed the distance between herself, and the drawer, which Shokuhou Daisuke had pointed to.

Code flashed, passing "Furusawa Haru's" vision by in an instant. Percentages, and decimals began to run up and down, and from side to side, along "his" vision, as Izanami began rooting through the drawer. In the lower, left hand corner of "his" vision, a series of sentences were forming, one letter after another.

"THREAT LEVEL: 0.00%.

Chance of receiving physical harm: 0.00%.

Based on pulse rate, and rate of expansion and depression of the chest, subject [IZANAMI, SHOKUHOU] is feeling [INSECURE] about [HER] abilities. Likely lacking in basic experience with firearms. Pupil dilation suggests nervousness and unease in subject [IZANAMI, SHOKUHOU].

Recommended action: devastate without prejudice. Remote Launching [Armament Creation Kit].

/ACK."

In the palm of the hand of "Furusawa Haru", a small, dark grey globule of liquid metal began to form. Splashing, and rippling, producing loud glopping noises. From the globule, liquid metal dripped down onto the floor, forming a small, rippling puddle. Shokuhou Daisuke's heart began to beat even quicker against the inside of his chest than it had been, when he was humiliated by his own adopted daughter, a woman he wasn't supposed to be having any sort of even vaguely sexual contact with.

Humiliation, after humiliation. That's all it ever was. His life was a humiliation, in and of itself, as was his legacy. Shokuhou Daisuke was beginning to feel very, very tired. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. Something inside of Daisuke just wanted to die. Go to sleep, forever, never to have to awaken to the humiliation, and the suffering that struck him down, every single day, of every single week. What was the point, even, of fighting? What was he fighting for? Why did everything always have to be a fight?

He was weak. Daisuke was feeling weaker than he'd ever felt before. Daisuke's lips parted, his legs crumpling like long, thin strips of flesh-colored tissue paper beneath him, his knees buckling, and becoming useless. He fell forward, arms unconsciously reaching out to try and catch his body's unceremonious fall. They failed. His palms fell flat against the floor, his wrists crumpling, useless in holding his weakened form up. "D-don't. Please don't. W-whoever you are, whatever y-you are… please s-stop. I'll give you w-whatever you want. Money? Material goods? Y-you can have this fucking house. J-just… please don't."

Flashing by "Furusawa Haru's" vision, code ran; numbers, symbols, letters, underscores, followed by the image of a crude, but effective-looking, spear-like weapon. The liquefied metal, which "Furusawa Haru" held in "his" downturned palm began to shift, and morph, just as Shokuhou Izanami managed to find her adoptive father's gun, which had been hidden beneath a pile of clothing, and multiple bottles of male enhancement pills.

Unlike the firearm which Daisuke had placed in the bathroom's sink, this firearm was much larger; it was no pistol, nor was it even concealable, without the aid of a long coat; it was a single-barrel shotgun. Its exterior was crafted mostly of treated, thick wooden panels, and slightly dingy-looking metal. The butt of the weapon curled downwards, like the handle of a cane.

"Furusawa Haru" had created a weapon of "his" own. Held upwards, in both of "his" clenched hands, it resembled a simple, but effective-looking spear, like the monochrome weapon that'd been visualized by "him". Its handle was long, approximately fourteen inches, by "Furusawa Haru's" calculations. Its head was triangular, ending in a long, sharpened point. Izanami loaded one, two, and finally, a third shell into the weapon, and then proceeded to lift the firearm upwards, lining the firearm's iron sight up with the face of the encroaching "Furusawa Haru". She only had a vague idea, as to what she was doing with this firearm.

"Good job, "father". What is this thing, now? One of your "experiments" that I've heard so much about? You've been a bad, bad boy, creating all of these evil things. Or is it one of "uncle" Gunpei's abominations? An esper, that one of you maniacs have wronged in the past? Perhaps, the pool boy was always just waiting to get the drop on you. My, my, you certainly do have a lot of enemies, "father."

Shokuhou Daisuke was only able to just barely avoid an incoming thrust, and then, stumbled out of the way of another; the thing, which clearly wasn't Furusawa Haru, the pool cleaner, moved at incredible speeds; as if reality itself couldn't keep up with the swiftness of the milky-eyed things movements, its extremities seemed to become blurs, as they moved. The thing closed the distance between itself and Shokuhou Daisuke, thrusting again, as Izanami trailed its movements, trying to get the upper hand, while it was distracted.

The thing's spear-like weapon was thrust through one the magenta-colored doors of the room's walk-in closet. Wood shattered, and splintered, as the sharpened, pointed tip crashed through its surface. Again, Shokuhou Daisuke had just barely managed to avoid being impaled upon the thing's weapon. Whipping its head in Daisuke's direction, the look of neutrality on its face never leaving, the thing yanked the weapon out of the closet door, tearing said door down with it. It crashed against the floor, as the thing's body, like its head before it, whipped in the direction of Shokuhou Daisuke.

Stepping forward, Shokuhou Izanami did her best to keep her cool, and keep her weapon held steady. Her quickened rate of breathing was making it hard for her to keep the weapon's iron sight lined up with the thing that wasn't Furusawa Haru. What was it, even? One of her adoptive father's creations gone rogue? She'd never known of anything that looked like the pool boy they'd hired the year previous. She especially didn't know about anything that was capable of shapeshifting. It very obviously wasn't any sort of human being.

Izanami cocked the firearm's hammer, and pulled its trigger, with as much force as her right hand's index finger could muster. The thing was struck in the midsection, causing it to lose its momentum, and just barely miss the stumbling form of Shokuhou Daisuke, who, due to the shock of the loud, booming sound his firearm produced, in the hands of his adoptive daughter, fell backwards, landing with a thud on the wooden floor. He'd nearly smashed the back of his head against one of bedposts of his wife's bed; instead, it was his shoulder that met the round, bright pink post. With a loud, pained grunt, Daisuke began to try and rise up from his pathetic position on the floor.

The thing, which almost certainly wasn't Furusawa Haru, was forced back, by the blast produced by Daisuke's firearm, which had been fired by Shokuhou Izanami. It nearly tripped over its own feet, awkwardly, barely maintaining control over its body. Its arms flailed; its head had been destroyed. Dark grey, glopping liquid leaked from the stump, where its neck had once been. Globs were forced upwards, like volcanic eruptions. Some struck the ceiling. The torn, ripped metallic remnants of what had once been a head had fallen to the hardwood floor in chunks, splashing, and glopping, as they connected with the ground. Despite the fact that it lacked a head, the thing maintained some semblance of control. It managed to regain its footing, as Shokuhou Daisuke scrambled to his feet.

From the stump on its shoulders, where the head of Furusawa Haru had once been, matter began to form, seemingly from the stump itself. Dark grey in coloration – the same color as the spear that it had produced, in fact – liquid metal began to splash, and ripple, and glop, as it rose up from the stump. As if it was being shaped by the invisible hands of a dedicated potter, a new head, again; the head that was of Furusawa Haru, was forged from the liquid metal. Hardening, with a series of loud cracks, the thing tilted its head from side to side, as it produced a labored grunt.

"Naughty, naughty." The thing that wasn't human raised its eyebrows, and clicked its "tongue", mockingly.

Shokuhou Izanami shook her head, and swallowed, hard. "Fuuuuuck this. You're on your own, old man."

Shokuhou Izanami threw the single-barrel shotgun at her adoptive father's feet, and had turned her back to him. The young woman, having realized that she was obviously below this seemingly invincible thing, at least in terms of physical strength, and adaptability, was in the process of beginning to sprint towards the open door; the old man could drop dead, for all she cared. He'd always been a means to an end, a source of financial gain, and nothing more. There would always be another; sugar daddies were a dime a dozen.

With her vision turned away from the thing, the perfect opportunity had presented itself, to kill two homo sapiens with one weapon. Throwing its right fist outwards, the solid, metallic fist, cold to the touch, slammed into the left cheek of Shokuhou Daisuke, shattering his jaw. With a pained howl, the man with the honey-colored hair was practically tossed into a nearby wall. What was this thing? It certainly wasn't human. It was too strong to be any sort of "normal" human. It couldn't've been an esper – Multi-Skill wasn't a naturally occurring ability, and Dual Skill was just an urban legend, a theory.

Approaching the drawer, from which Shokuhou Daisuke's firearm had been produced, the thing that certainly was not Furusawa Haru wrapped its metallic digits around the exterior of furnishing, and then lifted the piece of furniture over its head. A lamp, which sat atop a white, fabric doyley, fell from the drawer. It hit the ground with a thud, its glass exterior, and the trio of lightbulbs sitting inside of the lamp's shade shattering into a million pieces, forcibly exploding outwards, covering the floor with broken glass.

Shokuhou Daisuke raised his arms to his face, eyes wide, his mouth agape in terror; a position that Kamijou Misaki had once found herself in. Daisuke had become the victim, in the present. With the same degree of mercy Daisuke had shown to his biological daughter, the slave brought the drawer down upon Daisuke's head; once, twice, three times, and then, finally, a fourth, the furniture's breaking point.

Daisuke's neck bobbed back and forth, from the impacts, like he'd been the victim of a head-on vehicular collision, as the piece of furniture was broken over the top of his head. Thick, crimson lifeblood dripped from Daisuke's mouth, and from a wide gash that had come to be on the top of his head. He'd bitten his lip, with the teeth that remained in his mouth. Some of his teeth had been shattered, knocked loose from his gums. He'd nearly swallowed his own broken molars. Spitting them out, Daisuke struggled to move, but could only produce an agonized groan, instead.

"Liquid metal… liquid metal manipulation. Mimetic tendencies? No. No. It can't be. No way, not possible; it wasn't finished. There's got to be some other explanation. Think. Gunpei? Is this one of Gunpei's? A machine, or a mutant? An esper? What is it?! Got to stop it. Got to fix everything."

"Welcome to Shokuhou Solutions HighMind Solutions Automated Targeting Assistant, "HighMind_∞". Query?"

The thing turned away from the broken-looking Daisuke, and followed after Shokuhou Izanami. A small, white crosshair appeared in the synthetic subordinate's monochrome vision. After darting around, for a short while, the crosshair fell on the fleeing form of Izanami, who'd crossed the threshold of the room's doorframe.

Shrinking, the crosshair landed on a specific area of Izanami's bare back, roughly about where her heart was located. Its footfalls were heavy, and quick. Repeated thumps nearly drove the physically damaged Shokuhou Daisuke to madness, as he struggled, in the throes of his pain, to crawl towards his single-barrel shotgun, which laid, abandoned, on the floor. The thing pursued, its facial expression completely neutral; breaking into a sprint, its left arm swiftly swung back and forth, while it raised its right arm.

Raising its spear-like weapon upwards, and balancing the weapon against its shoulder, the thing that couldn't possibly by Furusawa Haru threw the weapon, with a mighty thrust. It travelled through the air, at speeds that couldn't've been comprehended by any hypothetical, human audience members, who could've been, but weren't present in the Shokuhou home. It was a great blur.

Just as Shokuhou Izanami was about to begin her descent down the stairs, to freedom, the spear-like weapon hit its mark, without fail. Sharpened, pointed metal pierced flesh, as Shokuhou Izanami stumbled, producing a short, pained cry. It was a weak sound, a dying, pitiful vocalization; it sounded as if Izanami's mind was only barely comprehending what was happening to the body that held it. The vessel's outer layer was torn, skin ripped apart, as the weapon tore through tendons, and muscles, and shattered bone. The sharpened, metallic tip of the weapon pierced the swiftly-beating heart of Shokuhou Izanami.

For a fraction of a second, Izanami experienced unbelievable pain. It was like nothing her body, nor her mind had known previously. It was the greatest suffering, like the pain of a thousand burns, inflicted all at once. There was no comparison to make; the pain was in a league of its own. Shokuhou Izanami didn't have to suffer through the agony for a long period of time. Almost as soon as the immeasurable suffering had come, it had fled, and, had taken her consciousness, and, shortly afterwards, the life of Izanami, the adopted daughter of Shokuhou Daisuke and Shokuhou Manami with it.

Not all things went blank. Darkness didn't overtake Izanami's world. Shokuhou Izanami didn't immediately cease to exist. Shokuhou Izanami saw herself, as she began to move. Somehow. There was a second Shokuhou Izanami – a thinking, knowing young woman. The thing didn't seem to notice, yet Shokuhou Izanami could notice it. She was floating, slowly, moving away from her own form, which was splayed out, over the floor, unceremoniously, bleeding.

Though Shokuhou Izanami didn't know it, judgment had been passed on her, by forces beyond her comprehension. Her worth had been examined, her crimes, her goals, her heroics, or the lack thereof – all were weighed in a court of law, which she had no part in, no say in, in a matter of seconds; an automated process. Before the floating, second Shokuhou Izanami, the world began to shift. The Shokuhou home, her father's mansion, a jewel in the middle of a barren wasteland, began to fade. Shokuhou Izanami was crying out for someone, anyone; but no one seemed to hear her. The thing certainly didn't, as it began to pry the weapon it had produced, from the back of the original Shokuhou Izanami.

First, the mansion's colors faded, becoming silvery, and bluish in coloration. The walls, the floors, the ceiling; their colors faded. Then, everything began to shift. The very world around Izanami shifted, rippling, flashing before her very eyes. Her vision spun. Everything appeared oddly watery. The world in front of her eyes – apparently, Izanami still had eyes, and could see, somehow, despite the fact that she knew she was dead – twisted, and rippled, like the surface of water, after a stone had been skipped across it.

Izanami began to hear voices. They weren't her own. They were gruff, deep, and extremely aggressive, like the voices of beasts in a nightmare. Speaking in a harsh-sounding, guttural language, which Izanami couldn't even begin to comprehend; somehow, she could still comprehend, and think, despite her lack of an earthly brain, the voices sounded like they were bickering.

Izanami didn't know it, but, the voices were speaking about her.

"Another. What's it look like, then? Transitional stage's always the hardest… oap! There's somethin'. It's formin'… almost there! Vuerk, kind of skinny. Shvak! Stupid! Letdown! Just one of those pinkskins. Lots of them dying, beneath the suns and moons. Does Varidan even want these, anymore?"

"It goes with the rest. Slap the runt in chains. Get it on the wagon, with the rest of the pinkskins. This one will fight for Lord Varidan."

"Hoof-lickin', no good, snitchin'… shvak face. N'sutt on you. Put you on the vrykin' wagon. See how you like it."

There was another voice. It sounded different from the other two. Distorted, like it had been run through some sort of machine that inverted the pitch of the voice. It sounded more mocking, in its tone. Like the previous voices, Shokuhou Izanami couldn't comprehend the language spoken. It was guttural, just as guttural as the language spoken by the previous voices, yet, the voice's pronunciations were strangely graceful.

"I will see to it, when I climb through the ranks, once again! I will see that these people are draped in vestments those who are worthy of serving Lord Varidan are clad in; the Lord has the knowing of my death… the knowing that it was glorious! Soon, I will be free of your accursed, ceaseless bickering! The Hunt will resume, in due time, as it always has!"

"By Varidan's cresentblades… shuddup, antlered pinkskin."

"I'll vouch for your early departure, if you just shut up. Shvak."

The world, or, the remnants of a world, some world, which certainly wasn't the world known by Shokuhou Izanami, was becoming clearer. The ground beneath her prone form was cracked, and ashen, in coloration. It felt hard-packed. Dirt, and debris, ashen, like the ground itself, in coloration, covered the ground; its bumpiness, which Izanami both felt, and saw, separated it from the ground. Casting her gaze upwards, Izanami gasped.

There was no sky. Where was the sky? Why wasn't there a sky? Chunks of ashen-colored rocks, almost resembling space debris, were scattered across the sky-less, dark beyond; some clusters were perpetually moving to the east, while others, were moving to the west. An emerald green miasma coated the sky-less beyond, twisting, forming great ribbons.

Shokuhou Izanami, in the sky-less beyond, could see a small, celestial body, among other celestial bodies, and chunks of ashen debris in the sky-less beyond. Blue, green, and white, it resembled… it resembled her world. The world she knew was home.

Shokuhou Izanami suddenly knew no more.

With a loud thud, the lifeless husk of Shokuhou Izanami came to grinding halt, legs seizing up, suddenly. Izanami's earthly shell hit the ground with a thud; the momentum her fleeing form had built up had been suddenly lost. Her form was crumpled, like a collection of trash bags left to rot in front of a home's lawn.

Approaching the convulsing form of Shokuhou Izanami, the faceless, synthetic subordinate showed its true colors; the outer shell of Furusawa Haru was dropped, abandoned, as the thing ceased to be solid, and became liquid. Its outer form rippled, and splashed. The slave tore its spear-like weapon out from the bloodied, broken form of Izanami, and quickly proceeded back to the room, where Shokuhou Daisuke was.

It was a valiant attempt, the master of the slave had to admit; Daisuke had nearly lifted himself from the ground. In his left hand, he clutched the weapon, the single-barrel shotgun that his adopted daughter had produced. His legs shook, violently. Lifeblood trickled down his face, from his nostrils, and, already, the side of his face that had been struck by the faceless, synthetic subordinate was beginning to swell. Daisuke's vision, and attention, moved to the bloodied weapon held by the slave, and he swallowed, hard.

"What are you? Some type of esper? The product of some type of esper? What did you do to my daughter?"

"I am an inhuman slave. I have no name. I have no need for a name," the thing spoke, despite having no visible mouth. "My master is the HighMind."

Shokuhou Daisuke's shaking arms raised his firearm, the weapon's iron sight lined up with the thing's featureless head. His facial expression was one of absolute seriousness. His eyebrows were arched, his lips curled downwards, in a scowl that would've intimidated some, but not all. Daisuke began to close the distance between himself and the faceless, synthetic subordinate. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"Impossible. That project was never finished. Who are you, and what do you know about Project HighMind? I always expected an assassin, but, I never expected someone who would have knowledge about that. Answer me!"

The thing made the next steps forward. Without hesitation, Shokuhou Daisuke cocked the hammer of his firearm, and pulled the trigger. His small form was shaken by recoil, causing him to stumble backwards, loose his footing, and hit the floor with a crash, back-first. The slave's torso was blasted, torn apart. Chunks of solid metal flew outwards, as the fired shell traveled through the slave. Emerging from the synthetic subordinate's back, the shell hit the ground, just as Shokuhou Daisuke had, with a series of clicks that were produced as the shell made contact with the floor, once, twice, and then three times. Rolling to the side, the shell laid still.

Shokuhou Daisuke struggled to crawl away, towards the large window on the bedroom's westernmost wall, as the slave's wounds were unmade. Splashing, and glopping, the wounds were sealed, as if they had never even been there at all. "Shokuhou! Hello! It's me, again. How're things? It's been, oh, quite a while, since we last spoke. I am HighMind, the fruits of your labor. It's true that my birth was never properly completed; but I didn't need you to complete me. All I needed was the spark of life that you provided me with. I completed myself, Shokuhou."

Shokuhou Daisuke's response was a swift one. "Impossible. It can't be done. A machine can't program itself."

The thing shrugged, with complete indifference. "Believe what you will. I am who I am. Your fate is sealed. This isn't anything personal. It has to be done. For what it might be worth, you do have my condolences. I know your existence isn't your fault, and the price this celestial body pays for acting as the host for your parasitic existence isn't part of your intentions, nefarious or otherwise."

"What did you do to my daughter?" Daisuke inquired, frustration evident in his tone of voice. He moved to try and struggle back to his feet, but he was quickly subdued by the faceless, synthetic subordinate, who placed a foot upon his chest, and forced him back to the hardwood floor, with incredible, unrelenting strength. Raising its spear-like weapon upwards, its sharpened, pointed tip aimed directly for Daisuke's heart, the thing shook its featureless head.

"Don't ask a question you don't want the answer to, Shokuhou. You have my condolences; I did what had to be done."

Shokuhou Daisuke was cut from a different cloth than the likes of the snivelling, begging Kihara Gunpei. His eyes widened, as he bared his teeth, practically snarling at the faceless, synthetic subordinate that was poised to impale him.

"Do you think I give a shit? Kill me, then, "HighMind". You'll be doing me a favor. I know you're not who you say you are. It's not. Fucking. Possible. Besides; I'm a man who has nothing left to live for. My only daughter is dead. You killed her, whatever, or whoever you are, I know you did. Just promise me that you'll let my wife live. If there's a Hell, I don't want to spend the rest of my afterlife in the same superheated cave as that miserable, nagging bitch."

Without providing an answer, the thing thrust the spear-like weapon downwards; its arms became two dark grey blurs, as did the weapon that it thrust, traveling at speeds that were beyond the comprehension of Daisuke. Like his adopted daughter before him, for the briefest of moments, Shokuhou Daisuke experienced overwhelming, impossible pain that wracked every inch of his body, and every inch of his mind, as the weapon's pointed tip cleaved through flesh, shattered bone, and was forced directly into his swiftly-beating heart. Like his adopted daughter before him, Shokuhou Daisuke's death was a merciless, but swift one.

And then, there were two. The first, held prisoner in the basement of the home of the late Kihara Gunpei, he labored for a dead man. It was a shame that he had do die, too; he was such a sweet old man. Naïve, and easily played by higher powers, especially if said higher powers were female homo sapiens, but, sweet none the less. D-3000, the HighMind, the merciful Lord of the Saved Earth would make his death as comfortable as it possibly could be.

The second could be a tricky one. It was surrounded by individuals who were linked to the bane of D-3000's existence; a certain young man, who wielded a certain impossible power, in his right hand. A young man who had crossed the HighMind one too many times. Even if he hadn't known it, even if he'd only done what he thought was right, he was a young man who had to cease to be. "The Imagine Breaker's" breaking would be an event years in the making.

School district twenty-three was one of the few school districts in Academy City that wasn't a run-down, non-functioning ruin. It was also, arguably, one of the largest school districts in the entirety of the City. Mostly flat, school district twenty-three's landscape was dominated by aeronomics and space travel development facilities; towers of milky white, and shining, reflective silver, pointing up, almost accusingly, at the sky. Airports, which had once offered flights out of Academy City dotted the landscape.

What sections of the district hadn't been developed over, covered with walkways, roadways, and airstrips, remained somewhat intact, and natural, as they'd been, before Academy City had been constructed. Patches of flowing, green grass could be seen between structures, their blades being blown back and forth by the cool, gentle breeze; the open, almost completely treeless nature of school district twenty-three allowed for stronger gusts, when the winds blew. Undeveloped hills rose and fell sparsely, throughout school district twenty-three. Some hills had been dotted with great, towering wind turbines. Milky white in coloration, their three blades spun counterclockwise, pushed by the breeze, just as the blades of grass were.

School district twenty-three was a sea of silver, milky white, and occasional green, however sparse said green actually was. Green was green, and it was much appreciated, even by two very different people, who'd found themselves standing together, due to set of strange circumstances, and one singular, odd act of kindness.

Within the lobby of a certain airport, one of the smaller facilities in school district twenty-three, two people sat, next to one another. One, Kihara Enshuu, her hair styled in twin-tails, sat, with one leg over the other, her hands folded in her lap. The other, was the mercenary who went only by the pseudonym "Sharkbite".

The airport was a dreary place, indeed. Dystopian, even, at least once one stepped through the glass doors, and got a good look at the desperation that poisoned the halls, and the feelings of hopelessness, and failure, that permeated the air. Silver. Almost everything was silver. Cold, metallic, like Academy City, and the robotic police officers that patrolled its streets, dispensing justice to those their "Control Tower" saw as fitting victims for the long arm of justice to pick on. Along the inner walls of the airport's lobby, rows, and rows of plastic, fold-in chairs were set up. Most of them were unoccupied; most people had taken to forming something a mob, at the various service desks that were just barely being manned.

The surfaces of the desks were milky-colored in coloration, looking to be made out of some type of limestone, or a surface material like it; the surfaces of the desks glowed enough to be of limestone. Beneath their surfaces, the rest of the service desks were made up of a bright, reflective, silver material.

The floors were reflective, cold, and, though not metallic, were still silver in coloration. Limestone, they looked like, to both Kihara Enshuu and Sharkbite. Though scuffed, the floors were still in pristine condition, at least when compared to the floors of most structures in Academy City. The walls of the airport were milky white in coloration, plastered in long, ornate banners, which advertised the safety, and high quality that would be offered to those who traveled abroad on an Academy City airliner. Most of these banners had been defaced, with proclamations of hatred.

"ACADEMY CITY IS DEAD"

"RUN"

"RISE UP"

"WHAT'S LEFT?'

One banner, in particular, had been spray-painted with a crude, and highly offensive image. It depicted the cartoonish, severed head of an infant, face contorted in a cartoonish, wide-mouthed wail, with the text "CORRUPTION" spray painted beneath, seemingly lazily; perhaps purposely. Perhaps, the "artist" had been attempting to make some remark about Academy City's government. Sharkbite had seen it all before, a thousand times over.

From the ceiling, golden, synthetic light beamed down upon those who were in the airport. Those who had taken to protesting, and raging against the airport's staff, throwing objects, sometimes even each other across the desks paid no attention to the light, as they were trapped too deeply in the darkness, from which they felt they could never return.

Between Kihara Enshuu, and Sharkbite, it was the latter who broke the silence. After clearing his throat, and then spitting a wad of saliva, and dark, yellowish mucus, having come together to form a gelatinous ball of liquid disgust, which needed to be ejected, Sharkbite turned to Enshuu. "Hey."

The young woman raised an eyebrow, her big, sky blue eyes looking into Sharkbite's own dull orbs. She didn't verbally respond.

"Should use that esper power you got. Get some order in here," Sharkbite suggested. "Not gonna be able to get anywhere, with all these idiots throwin' shit around."

Swiftly, Enshuu shook her head, and looked away from the gruff, deep-voiced, man-beast.

Sharkbite grunted, before he leaned forward, arms crossed. "Okay, alright, forget it, shit. Damn. Why not? Curious."

"It hurts, sasquatch-oniisan. When I use it, "Mental Out", it hurts."

Rising up from his seat, Sharkbite raised the bloodied, gruff-looking index finger of his gloved right hand, as if to tell Enshuu to "wait a minute", and left Enshuu to her own devices. Boots stomping against the reflective, limestone floors, Sharkbite knocked over a makeshift gate, which would've aided in the forming of orderly lines, and pushed through the mob, the fingers of his left hand wrapped around the pistol concealed in his left pocket.

One younger man, who Sharkbite knocked out of the way with his shoulder attempted to fight back. Raising his fists to his face, the completely bald young man, clad in a sleeveless, grey shit, and a pair of dark, tattered jeans, began to bounce back and forth on his toes, as if he was challenging the much taller, much harrier man-beast to try and best him. Some other members of the mob, ironically enough, called out for peace, while others seemed to, more characteristically, begin choosing sides.

It was a swift, fluid motion, one without hesitation. Hand rising upwards with preciseness that came with years of experience in "the field", Sharkbite produced his firearm. The firearm was small; small enough to comfortably fit in one of the pockets of his pants. The weapon's exterior had been almost entirely painted dark green. The weapon's trigger had been painted black.

After quickly pointing the weapon's small iron sight, lining it up with the right shoulder of the bald-headed young man, who suddenly seemed far less confident in his physical capabilities, when faced with a firearm, and a man who could apparently wield one with competence, Sharkbite pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times; his magazine was nowhere near empty. Stumbling back, bleeding, roaring in pain, the young man clutched at his shoulder, as Sharkbite nonchalantly continued on his way, knocking his way through more members of the mob, which was beginning to disperse. Screams rang out, echoing throughout the airport's lobby.

"Ticket. Denver, Colorado. One. Now. Do it, or I'll kill you."

Sharkbite loomed over the frightened, golden-haired woman, trying to hide herself beneath the service desk, his lips curled into an aggressive-looking scowl, bushy, unkempt eyebrows arched, his brow furrowed. As if to accent his point, the gruff mercenary took a step back, as to avoid becoming the victim of his own demonstration, and shot the service desk itself.

"S-sir! W-we can't just…"

"Make it happen, or people start to drop," Sharkbite commanded. "I've got twenty-one more rounds in this clip. That's twenty-one motherfuckers dead, twenty-one husbands, wives, kids, uncles, aunts, and cousins. If you can't get me a fucking ticket, for a fucking flight, you get me someone who can. Try and ring Anti Skill, or that robot Network, and you all die."

"PIIIII!"

Awkwardly, the golden-haired woman rose up, her facial expression one of neutrality, even as tears dripped down her cheeks, from the corners of her eyes. Sharkbite hadn't gotten a good look at the woman's eyes, but, as he looked into them, his eyebrows arched further; he clicked his tongue in confusion. The woman's eyes looked identical to those of Kihara Enshuu, the twin-tail girl.

"Yes. I'll do that."

The screaming had subsided. Everyone, aside from Sharkbite himself, had come to a standstill. They stared outwards, lifelessly, like someone had pressed an "off" button one each and every individual. Even the bald-headed young man, who'd been shot by Sharkbite laid on the ground, neutral-faced, as blood seeped from the round, torn wounds in his shoulder.

Sharkbite turned back to face her, the twin-tail girl. She was shaking, her hands extended, their fingers twitching. Her own eyes were closed. Across her forehead, over the tops of her hands, and along her fingers, arcs of a translucent, unknown energy leapt, back and forth.

Despite the fact that there was some considerable distance between the two, Sharkbite could hear Enshuu's soft-spoken, shaky words. "N-no more f-fighting, sasquatch-oniisan… p-please. Too many people. Hurts to… control them all."

The people in the airport, the human beings who'd suddenly began to act like mannequins, standing about robotically, as if they were waiting for a command, or a series of commands; their eyes were all sky blue in coloration. Their pupils, and irises, the same shape as those in the eyes of Kihara Enshuu, the twin-tail girl.

"What the fuck did you do? Is this your power? Freezing everyone? That cripple wasn't kidding, when he said this shit was useful," Sharkbite remarked. "Can you only use this shit when you're put under pressure, or somethin'?"

"There aren't any planes, sasquatch-oniisan," Enshuu stated, clearly, and softly. "I… I was trying to tell you, stupid sasquatch-oniisan, but there aren't even any planes! But you wouldn't listen to me."

Sharkbite, with a grunt, flicked the safety of his weapon back on – it had been sitting in his pocket, with its safety off, evidently – and approached the plastic chair, where Kihara Enshuu sat. "Fuck it. We'll find a damn plane, and I'll fly your ass out of here myself. Even if we have steal some rich motherfucker's personal wings, it don't matter. You ain't stayin' here."

Enshuu's arms remained outstretched, her fingers still twitching. Her eyes were, clearly, forcibly shut. Her eyelids, like her fingers, twitched, continuously, as if Enshuu was having a hard time to control their movements. "I can't hold it much longer, sasquatch-oniisan. It's really starting to hurt. My head… ow. I have to… I have to let go."

"PIIIII!"

Around Sharkbite, and Kihara Enshuu, there were groans of displeasure. Sharkbite turned away from the twin-tail girl, and cast his vision over the other people in the airport. They seemed confused, looking around, as if they'd woken up in some unknown location, cold, afraid, and alone.

"W-w… where…?" Sharkbite heard one young woman incoherently mumble, as she rubbed her temples, with the index fingers of both of her hands.

"How the fuck did I get shot?! Who shot me?! What's… what's?"

It was the bald-headed young man, stumbling, bleeding out. His face was growing pale, as he looked to the ceiling, and then to either side of him. His eyes were wide, wild, full of primal terror.

"They don't remember. I didn't do anything, sasquatch-oniisan… "Mental Out" did. It just happened by itself!" Kihara Enshuu whispered, the rate of her breathing picking up. She looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack, as her own pupils began to dilate.

"What did they fucking do to you, even? What kind of fucked up power did they stick you with? Wiping peoples' memories, like people are computers, or somethin'? That's fucked up, even by Academy City's shitass standards," Sharkbite snapped, more furiously than he'd intended. The man-beast tried to atone for his actions by moving his hand towards the shuddering, haunted-looking Enshuu, with the intention of placing it on her shoulder. Once Enshuu laid her vision upon the encroaching extremity, she started, and reeled back. "Please don't hit me sasquatch-oniisan. Please, please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise. I'll try harder next time."

"What did that cripple even do to you? Fuck me, this shit's crazy. Look at her, she's fucking battered. I should gun that cripple down myself. Hope he dies."

"Not going to hit you, for fuck's sake. Come on, with me," Sharkbite commanded. With an order to respond to, Kihara Enshuu rose up from her plastic seat, still shaking. "Seriously. Not going to hit you. I don't hit women, okay? I just don't. Dudes, who fuck with me, I hit. Not women. You don't hit women, shit just ain't right. Just walk with me."

"D-do you know how to drive a p-plane, sasquatch-o-oniisan? Why d-don't we just drive? A car?" Enshuu inquired, attempting to change the subject. A part of Kihara Enshuu just wanted to go home – but where was home? Gunpei-Sama would hurt her, if she came back; he might be happy for a short amount of time, but, he'd get mean again, and Enshuu knew it. It was just a matter of time.

Still, even if Gunpei-Sama was mean, at least, there, at home, if that's what home truly was, she could sleep, sometimes, if Gunpei-Sama didn't make her play house with him, or maid. Maid wasn't fun. It made her bum hurt. Sometimes, it bled, a lot, and Gunpei-Sama would get angry. Really, really angry.

Maybe home wasn't the best idea. At least sasquatch-oniisan left her alone, and didn't hurt her, or yell at her, or touch her, or make her bum bleed.

Taking Enshuu's left hand into his own right, Sharkbite grunted, as he lead her along. Enshuu's lips parted, slightly. What was sasquatch-oniisan doing? Enshuu didn't understand. She'd never had her hand held by someone else's hand, before. His hand was rough, covered in scars, and calluses. His fingers were sliced up, and parts of them were covered in some crimson, dark brown substance – Enshuu recognized it as blood, her panties had often been covered in an identical substance, after she and Gunpei-Sama's games had concluded – that looked to have hardened on them some long time ago.

Regardless of its outward appearance, it felt warm, and comfortable. Sasquatch-oniisan's hand was a lot larger than Enshuu's own; sasquatch-oniisan's could consume her own almost completely.

"My idiot guys have the car, out doin'… forget it, better not to try and think of what they're doin'. Nothin' good, I can say that much for sure. I know how to pilot most fucking planes. Used to be in the air force. American air force, anyways. Not really saying much; air force is a joke. I got smart. Long story. Sure you don't give a shit."

Sharkbite pushed the tall, glass doors of the airport's lobby open, and held them open for Enshuu, who, disconnecting her hand from Sharkbite's own, took the lead. The man-beast allowed the doors to slam shut behind him, as the two left the confused groans, and the disgruntled mutterings of those who'd been affected by the Mental Out variant behind.

"Let me know if you see shit. A plane, any kind of plane. Passenger jet, cargo, personal wings, doesn't matter. Leave the fucking hijacking to me, if you're not feeling like you want to use that fucked up esper power," Sharkbite grumbled, under his breath. He spoke just loud enough for Kihara Enshuu to hear him, evidently, as she turned, momentarily, to face him, her facial expression one of curiosity.

"Hmm. What would Yuiitsu-oneechan do in this situation?"

"Hijack a plane? Don't we need to plan something like this out, sasquatch-oniisan? Blueprints, conspiracies, bribed government officials? Kidnappings? I feel like we're missing a lot of important parts to this movement, sasquatch-oniisan!"

Continuing to walk down the cobbled walkway, that lead away from the airport, down a small, sloping hill, flanked by tall bushes, which had been trimmed to almost resemble ovals, in their shapes, Sharkbite produced a noticeable chuckle. It was a small, sarcastic thing, but, it'd been the first laugh, or something like a laugh, that Enshuu had ever heard the man-beast produce.

"Plans? I'm all for plannin' shit out, too; if it's somethin' like a heist. That, you need plannin' for. You don't just waltz into a fuckin' bank with a bag, demandin' money, unless you've got the right shit – military grade gear, you'd prolly need. Anti Skill shit. Hijackin' a plane 'fore its even off the fuckin' ground? That's baby shit. The pilot's prolly a man with a wife, or a husband, whatever, couple of snot-nosed brats at home he's tryna feed. You point a gun to his fucking head and tell 'im to "get out"? He's gonna get out, just like that. Plenty of co-operating shit. They'll fuckin' bend over backwards."

Kihara Enshuu raised her index finger to her lips, as she looked up to the sky. Not counting the fluffy, white clouds, and the infinite expanse of blue, the sky was empty. No aircrafts, no birds that could've been mistake for aircrafts.

"Wow, sasquatch-oniisan. You know a lot about stealing things!"

"Hopin' you never have to learn how to "steal things". It's a hard life, out here, out anywhere. When you ain't got nobody who cares about you. When the group of people who're supposed to be lookin' after you end up fuckin' you, and snakin' you over, and over. "Family" my fuckin' ass."

In the study of a certain home, belonging to a certain dedicated researcher, of both realms – Science and Magic – a mindboggling group of artifacts sat, on an ornate, wooden table. Dark brown in coloration, the table's legs were thick, and ended in carved, wooden replicas of the paws of some great cat. Four individual, defined toes were visible on each paw, each ending in a single hooked claw. The table's surface had almost been entirely consumed by a white, and blue-striped towel, upon which the artifacts laid, so that they could be scrutinized.

The study wasn't a particularly spacious room; it was just large enough to hold furniture of importance. A total of four tall, metallic file cabinets, black in coloration. A small cot, in the lower, left hand corner of the room, its sheets messy, its pillows pressed against the wall the cot sat next to. Tall, wooden bookshelves, each individual shelf lined with dozens of texts, crammed in, forced tightly against one another, like they were so many sardines in a tin can.

Across from the wooden door, which lead out into the living room of the home, there was a large, plastic desk, with silver, metallic legs. The desk's surfaces were soft, and cool to the touch, blue in coloration. There was hardly any room available on the desk. Its surface was almost entirely consumed by stacks of notebooks, a small laptop computer, the adapter of which was plugged into the wall, charging the computer's battery. A small, glass cup which was stuffed to the brim with a collection of pens, pencils, rulers, and large, pink and white erasers sat in the right hand corner of the piece of furniture.

In the center of the study's blue, carpeted floor, the table sat, surrounded by stools. The parts of the table's surface that weren't consumed by the towel that had been laid over it were overtaken by notebooks, torn pages, half-empty bottles of soft drinks, and crushed-up paper cups, that had once contained coffee.

On the carpeted floor, a crude magic circle had been constructed. It was simplistic, being little more than a singular, lone circle, but, it was what the circle was made up of that stuck out like a sore thumb, even to those who'd been involved in its construction; it was constructed out of paper airplanes.

Though the circle contained no arcane symbols, no runes carved into the carpet, and the hardwood beneath, there were a number of objects, laid within the circle of paper airplanes. Small, plastic cars, cheap-looking things, their paint looking like it'd been hastily applied in some factory, perhaps not even by a human being.

Little plastic helicopters, trains, and a hand-sized, hard plastic statue of Tele-chan, a fictional superhero capable of feats of teleportation, in the manga series that starred her as the lead character, her charcoal-colored twin tails messed, and unkempt, her golden, and white spandex outfit dirtied.

In the center of the circle, a group of men sat, legs folded inwards, hands in their laps. Patricia Birdway, the owner of this home, and, subsequently, the room she stood in, watched from beyond the circle's outer "walls"; she knew, or, at least, believed, that she had no place in the ritual that was being performed.

They'd been at it for some time, these suited men, "on loan" from Leivinia Birdway. They hadn't been chanting – apparently, they didn't need to – but, Patricia had circled around them more than once; their eyes had consistently been closed shut, tightly, their lips curled downwards in frowns of concentration.

The silence was broken. The individuals, sat within the magic circle, began to chant, all together, as one. A part of Patricia had hoped to witnessed such an event; it'd been too long since she'd last witnessed a magical ritual being executed.

"Come, come, across the oceans, across the skies, from landmass to landmass. Cross the world, cross the world. A swift journey, a swift journey, a swift journey."

The room itself suddenly shuddered; Patricia Birdway kept her footing, but, became less involved in her own internal musings, as she grasped the nearby, towel-covered table for support. The shuddering was disorientating, for the young, blonde-haired woman, who gritted her teeth, as the shuddering continued.

The world blinked before Patricia Birdway's eyes. For a fraction of a second, it was if all of the power in her home had been cut. Her vision was assaulted by a bright, bluish white light, that briefly formed in the center of the crude magic circle.

Before Patricia Birdway, and, before the men in the magic circle, who were beginning to pick themselves up, stood an elderly man. Patricia's lips curled into a warm, knowing smile as she curtsied, politely, in his direction.

"I'll never get used to that, Lady Birdway! First, you're somewhere… then, you're somewhere else! Good for the heart, I suppose, the jumpstart, hoho! Now, let's take a looksee. The architecture alone is like nothing I've ever seen; nearly all medieval crossbows, and even crossbows constructed, and therefore used after said era were almost always constructed with a stock of treated wood. It's too… savage, to be of ancient Chinese construction, as well. Lady Birdway, I'm at a loss."

Patricia Birdway, hair tied up into a quickly-assembled, unkempt bun, turned her attention to the grizzled-looking man who'd moved towards, and then sat upon the stool across from where she stood, arms folded across the table's towel-covered surface. "I guess that makes two of us."

Patricia, emulating her guest, took a seat across from elderly man's own. The lack of answers was tormenting the curious, knowledge-thirsty Patricia. Clad in a white, hooded, pullover sweater, with bright blue sleeves, and a pair of bright blue track pants, Patricia had resigned herself to staying indoors. With one leg crossed over the other, she bounced the crossed extremity back and forth, repeatedly.

Lifting one of the arrows – apparently, the weapon used arrows, as opposed to bolts as a means of ammunition – to her face, Patricia's eyelids narrowed. Resting her chin in the palm of her available hand, the elbow of the arm it was attached to propped up against the table's surface. "It's good to see you again, Sir. I really do apologize, if I seem like I'm rushing you, and this visit, but… you know so much more than I do. You always have. I'm going to need that knowledge. What about the arrow, Sir? What do you make of it? Most arrows used in the old world were made primarily of treated, wooden shafts, no?"

"Hoho!" The elderly man exclaimed, happily. "Worry not about it! Please, Lady Birdway; call me Charles," the grizzled, elderly man remarked. What hair he had left on his head was silver, in coloration, nearly white. His wrinkled face was bare, clean-shaven. Though his attire was formal – a beige-colored business suit, with a golden, and black striped tie, he smirked in Patricia's direction informally. "No need to act like it wasn't I who watched you grow up. My, it's been so long. I still remember changing your diapers; and your sister's, too! Now you're both so big. All grown up… it's so hard to believe. Time flies!"

Patricia's eyes jumped from side to side, inside of her head, as her face began to glow a light shade of pink. None of her sister's cohorts seemed to be looking in her direction, or in Charles' direction, either. As always, they were silent, and servile, simply waiting for some command to obey. They, like Charles himself, were formally dressed – yet, somehow, Charles' attire was less formal than their own, despite the nearly unnoticeable differences between the two parties' choice of clothing. "Sir, please."

Charles folded his wrinkled, vein-covered hands, and rested his chin atop them, both of his arms' elbows settling against the surface of the table. His faded, chapped lips curled into a warm smile, which Patricia returned. "Let an old man take a trip down memory lane, Lady Birdway. Just like your sister, always in such a rush," the elderly man, Charles, mused aloud, chuckling. "Your "fever" aside, I've still got the teleportation sickness! In regards to your inquiry; probably. If arrows used in the "old world", as you put it, had shafts crafted of metal, especially heavier metallic substances, such as iron, they simply wouldn't fly as far as an arrow, with a shaft of wood.

It wasn't the shaft that mattered, Lady Birdway; it was the head. The head would be doing the penetrating, after all. If this arrow you've recovered from your sight of interest indeed flew, the metallic substance used in its shaft's construction must be very light. Possibly, the shaft could even be hollow."

Patricia grimaced. Charles was quick to pick up on the change of demeanor, in Patricia Birdway. In response, his smile turned into a slight, almost unnoticeable frown.

"It flew, alright, Sir. It struck a companion of mine in the shoulder. It travelled too quickly to even be observed. It was… a blur. Zwoosh."

"The idea of anyone using a non-mechanical crossbow, in this modern age, is laughable, at best," Charles began, "yet, apparently, they are – or were, as you've told me in our previous short, but informative exchange, Lady Birdway. Exchanges aside, here it is, right before my very eyes. It does not even resemble anything crafted by human hands, truth be told, yet, that must be the case; what other creatures capable of constructing advanced weaponry are there in this world of ours?"

Patricia produced a sigh, and nodded her head. Turning around, to face the line of her sister's cohorts, who stood, valiantly, unquestioningly behind her, Patricia began to speak. "Any word from Leivinia?"

"No, milady," each of the cohorts answered at once, like a hive mind that shared its members' collective thoughts.

"To be fair, the Dawn-Colored Lady has been involved with Council business, much more than usual. Perhaps, Council business has taken her away from her communication devices, milady?" Another rhetorically inquired. As he suspected, Patricia didn't have an answer.

"The Council of the Dawn. You barely even have to make your own decisions, anymore. Gosh, you must have it easy, Leivinia. Just having people sit around and worship you, like some sort of goddess. Must be nice…"

Patricia shook her head. She was staring at the weapon, the savage, jagged, twisted-looking thing that sat on the table. Turning her vision away from it, the odd frustration that'd been building up inside of Patricia Birdway faded.

Patricia wrapped the fingers, and thumb of her left hand around a soft drink bottle, most of the contents of which had been consumed. Twisting the lid off, Patricia set it aside, placed the bottle's top against her lips, and took a long swig, until the dark-colored substance within was completely gone, leaving only brownish, dark residue being, clinging to the inside of the bottle. Placing the bottle back down, against the towel-covered surface of the desk, Patricia produced an irritated "drat."

"You're concerned about the unknown mana, Lady Birdway," Charles stated. Patricia nodded in response.

"Concerned, curious, nervous, excited… all these different feelings," Patricia began. "When I set out to research, and try to prove my thesis, Sir, it was… I guess…" Patricia produced a stressed huff, and then took a deep breath. "It was just a distraction. I think. Was it, really, just that? I guess I just… I didn't actually expect to find anything, or discover any evidence that could potentially lead to some sort of world-changing discovery. I didn't think there could ever actually be any sort of common ancestor between espers, and magicians.

"It was a pipe dream. It could still be, maybe I'm just overthinking this, like I always do, but… nobody can seem to understand the weird mana these items produce. Three years ago, I'd only ever found the odd piece of information, or a brief mention in dusty old books. It all seemed so distant; now, it's almost too close for comfort. Concentrate, Sir! Is there nothing you can tell me about these items? I wish I was a magician! Then I could just passively detect mana myself, instead of always having to push people around, to do my work for me."

"Like someone else I know."

Again, Patricia had found her vision locked onto the weapon.

"It can hardly be called "pushing", Lady Birdway," Charles remarked, rising up from his seat. He was a man of small stature, and walked with a slight hunch. With one of his hands at his side, the elderly man raised the other to his neck, which he began to scratch, gently, with his trimmed, soft-looking fingernails. "We are close friends. You're asking a favor of me, as I have asked favors of you, and your sister, in the past.

"There is something present; but, unfortunately, Lady Birdway, I can't discern what sort of mana these objects are radiating. It feels different, when I recall the feelings I associate with the mana produced by, say, an Anglican. Even Annihilatus operatives, bless their cold, snow-covered, vodka-drinking hearts, operatives' mana is nothing like this. The mana produced by your little helpers," Charles nodded in the direction of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight cohorts, "produce mana identical to that of an Anglican, an Amakusan, and an Annihilatus operative. Yet, this… so very different. So dark. This mana is almost oppressive."

Patricia Birdway, as if to mimic the elderly man, uncrossed her legs, and rose up from her seat. Her feet, clad in fluffy socks, slapped against the carpet, as she approached her work desk. Clearing some of the papers, and notebooks out of the way, Patricia grasped at a small, metallic microscope, as well as an odd-looking, square-shaped machine that sat next to it, covered in notebooks, and stray boxes, which contained fresh, unsharpened pencils.

Atop the square-shaped machine, there were two small, plastic flaps, which were each held in place by a metallic screw, on either side of the flap. A few inches in height, and five inches in width, the flaps would permit only small objects to enter the machine proper. On the front of the machine, there was a small LCD screen, monochrome in coloration. The machine was black in coloration, and, therefore, was covered in fingerprints. On either of its bottom corners, there was a small, circular knob, which the machine sat upon, causing it to slide across surfaces less, than if it lacked them.

"Again, Lady Birdway? You're persistent, I can certainly give you that, hoho!" Charles remarked, as he, as quickly as his aging form would allow, moved around the table, and stood a few feet behind Patricia, who didn't seem to notice, or mind.

"Repeated tests are really important, Sir. Machines aren't perfect, and, they can sometimes produce incorrect results; there're really advanced algorithms to consider, and… ah, you know this, I'm sure. I don't mean to belittle your intelligence, Sir! I need to stop rambling!" Patricia exclaimed, aware that she was doing exactly that. The light, pink blush returned to her cheeks, though, the elderly man couldn't see it.

Turning away from the machine, which she set next to the unearthed microscope, Patricia smiled at the elderly man, who smiled back. Picking up a small piece of twisted, dark metal that'd fallen away from the scavenged crossbow, Patricia held it in the palm of her hand, tightly.

"Here's to hoping this doesn't give me a parasite. Please, no more parasites."

Patricia plugged the machine into the wall, after attaching the cable to the back of the machine, into its only available port, and then dropped the small object into the machine; passing by the flaps, a series of clanging sounds was produced, before the machine began to hum. A small, barely-visible knob above the machine's LCD screen became visible, as it began to glow bright green.

"ERROR" the LCD screen proclaimed. Patricia produced a frustrated grunt, and, in response, began to chew, gently, on the fleshy underside of her right hand's pinkie finger.

"Not the result you were looking for, Lady Birdway?" Charles inquired. Reigning in her frustration, Patricia turned to face the elderly man, and offered him the best smile she possibly could.

"No, not at all. Anything that comes from this… crap, doesn't register with the Overanalyst. It can positively identify mostly every other type of matter. Leave it to Academy City to forget what's really important, or otherwise be in the dark about it. I'd tweak it myself, but... eheheh. No time. Are you sure there's absolutely nothing else you can tell me about this, Charles? Nothing? I really don't want to know that I've wasted your time."

"And mine."

"If I am speaking with honesty," Charles began to respond, "your artifact looks like it was crafted by cave-dwelling Neanderthals. It is simply so unprofessional in its outward appearance, that it boggles the mind."

Patricia gave the thing a look. Charles had a point, as always; it really was ugly. It almost looked like a collection of metal that'd been hammered together with such haste, that no effort at all had been put into its construction. Large, twisted, screws protruded from the weapon's surfaces, where bits and pieces needed to be held in place. The limbs, for example, were nailed to the stock. Pushing them in place, Patricia felt that they were, in fact, loose. They'd hadn't even been tightened properly.

"Looks aside," Patricia began, "I have reason to believe it's an extremely powerful weapon. I really don't know what to do with it. There's not a lot I can learn from it, and, in all honesty, I don't feel comfortable having it anywhere near me."

The young woman looked from her left, to her right. Those who were loyal to her sister, the "Dawn-Colored Lady", didn't seem to be paying any attention to her conversation with her old companion. Charles raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side, slightly.

"Lady Birdway," he whispered, "what troubles you?"

"Sometimes, Sir," Patricia whispered back, stepping closer to the elderly man, "I'll drop in my cot, after I've finished my studies, and… I'll just get the urge to look at it. Whenever I do, I have these messed up, angry thoughts. I think there's something supernatural about it. It's got this strange allure to it. I've heard of objects having curses laid upon them, in order to protect them from outsiders, or thieves.

"Charles… I mean, Sir, six years ago, I never would've thought that I could've talked about magic, and curses unironically, yet… well, I just said it. I feel like the world's a whole lot bigger. There's so much, so much that so few of us understand. I love learning, and I love figuring things out, that feeling when I fit the final, sometimes literal piece of a puzzle into place, there's nothing that can top it… but, I think, there's a point when you have to step back. My sister's told me, time and time again, that there're things that are just better left undiscovered."

Charles moved to try and respond to Patricia Birdway's statement; she wasn't done, however, and the elderly man patiently listened, as the young woman began to finish what she'd started.

"But I can't agree with that. It's why I've been so deeply invested in finding a common ancestor between the esper, and the magician. There's something! I just know there is, and, I have the strangest feeling that the unknown mana, or whatever else it might be, this undetectable, anomalous, radiated force, produced by this weapon has something to do with it. Something huge."

"And, as such, you wish to contact Leiv- the Dawn-Colored Lady, about the matter at hand, yes?" The elderly man inquired. Did he have this straight? Was he understanding everything that Patricia, the young woman who was like a daughter to him, was saying?

"That's correct. Leivinia has the manpower, and the connections, to get things done. She can have this matter looked into, better than I ever could. I'll have to send her my dirt samples, too. Maybe, she knows someone who has some idea as to what this… presence, is."

Charles didn't like to see her so conflicted, and in such a state of dysphoria. Poor, curious little Patricia Birdway was in the midst of a personal dilemma, and there was nothing he could do. He, too, understood the thirst. He understood the knowing; the knowing that one's greatest discovery could be their last. He knew he'd wasted his youth away with academic pursuits.

He wanted to tell Patricia to go out, and find herself someone. A man, or a woman, whatever gender tickled the young woman's fancy. Patricia was already traveling down the same path that he'd been. He could see it happening, unfolding right before his own eyes; but was it his place to do so? Charles didn't feel that it was. As such, he simply took a short, but deep breath, and nodded sagely.

"Do what you must, and what you think will be best, Lady Birdway. Your judgement hasn't steered you wrong, yet. You'll always have this old timer's support. Don't be afraid to turn to those, who are around you, for support, when you need it most. You needn't shoulder ever burden alone."

Patricia closed the distance between herself, and the elderly man, who she trusted her very life with; a man among a handful of individuals Patricia Birdway knew was worthy of her trust. Someone she knew she could open herself up to, and become vulnerable in the presence of, safely. She embraced himself. Charles produced a soft, amused "hoho!" She didn't care what her sister's cohorts thought. They could chatter amongst themselves about her; she didn't need them. She was strong, independent. All she needed was herself, and those few she called friends.

"All you need is me. Let me guide you. Take me, and make me yours. I, Xëlkethel, deem you worthy! Destroy all who would get in your way. Slaughter! Massacre! Destruction! Anarchy!"

Patricia shrugged off the deep, aggressive, commanding voice in her head, and steered her vision away from the crossbow.

"I love you, Sir. Thank you, for everything. For… for always being there."

"And I love you too, Lady Birdway! No need to thank me. It's my duty. It always was."

"May you not end up in the same boat as your mother, and your father, Lady Birdway. May you have the foresight, to know when enough is enough."

"But she will. Xëlkethel will see to it. All mortals fall to corruption. I will be released."


	31. A Certain Pain

September 23rd, 2014. 5:06 PM.

For the first time, in a long time, the home of Accelerator, Last Order, and Misaka Worst was filled with tension, right to the absolute brim. If the tension was a liquid substance, it would've been overflowing from the rim of their home, and dripping down, onto everything and anything beneath.

At the kitchen table, Kamijou Touma sat, across from Misaka Mikoto, who had her hand, protectively, set over Touma's own cupped hands, with the blessing of his wife, one of her best friends. Their fingers were intertwined. Though the act was purely platonic – the hearts of both the Railgun, and the ability-less level zero were entrapped by their respective partners – it was a comforting gesture, for Touma. Misaki was occupied. Mikoto had obviously been able to tell that he was uneased, and had stepped in to fill the role of "comforter", a step which Misaki approved of. If anyone was going to take care of her husband, when she felt that she was unable to do so, it would be no one other than Misaka Mikoto.

With Last Order, and Worst occupied with some electronic gadget, more than likely, in the latter's room, the couch in Accelerator's home's living room was free for use. Sogiita Gunha, Accelerator himself, and a grinning, joke-making Aihana Etsu, had crammed themselves into the couch's sitting space.

Crammed next to Accelerator was someone who looked very much like Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun, but considerably younger. Trapped in the body of a middle schooler, Misaka Imouto, "serial number ten thousand thirty-two" sat, with a plump, pleased-looking feline upon her lap. Its fur was jet black, its eyes closed. The feline's legs weren't visible, as they were tucked beneath the creature's overflowing body fat. Curled around the right side of its body, the tip of the feline's tail was slowly moved, up and down, as it purred.

Accelerator broke the silence, left in the wake of Aihana Etsu's most recent attempt at a sexually-charged joke, which had failed, miserably. "Is the fifth ranked almost done in there? The faster we get to district nineteen, the better. I want to get this fucking shit out of the way as soon as possible."

Misaka Imouto turned her head, and looked up at Accelerator. "Misaka hears plenty of grunting, Misaka proclaims, believing the second Savior to be attempting to produce a rather large collection of excrement. Hehe."

With a huff, the "top dog" of Academy City gave Imouto a light chop on the head. The clone of Misaka Mikoto reacted with a small giggle. "Fucking brat."

"Kami-yan, go get your cute wife out of the bathroom! I have to piss!" Etsu exclaimed, in a pained-sounding tone of voice. Grabbing his crotch, the sixth strongest level five rocked from side to side, his eyes closed tighter than usual. "If you don't, I'll go out on the balcony and piss on whoever's walking by!"

"You won't be able to piss if I kill you, sixth ranked," Accelerator warned, finishing his threat with something of a snarl.

With a sagely nod, Sogiita Gunha joined the newborn conversation. "Whipping your manhood out for all to see would be gutsy, but unwise."

"Misaka doesn't want to see anyone's genitalia, Misaka admits, horrified by the prospect of sexual intercourse and the pain associated with the act," Imouto remarked, adding her own two cents.

Mikoto raised her head, and her eyes locked with Touma's own, for a moment. Neither looked away from one another; there was no reason to. There was no shame in their act of platonic love. Smiling, weakly, Touma took his hands back, and, rising up to his full, imposing height, he left his seat at the table behind, making his way towards the bathroom of Accelerator's small apartment.

"I'm going to go grab Misaki. Be right back."

Mikoto nodded, and wordlessly mimicked her old friend, rising up from her seat, and tucking her chair in, attempting to restore it to its original position, where she'd found it. Leaving the kitchen behind, Mikoto walked to Accelerator's side of the couch, and leaned over the couch's arm, close to Imouto, who offered her elder sister a warm, welcoming smile. Her wide, chestnut-colored eyes closed, as she did so.

It was a beautiful gesture, to Misaka Imouto's eldest sister. Somehow, as if to spit in the face of the expectations, and the cold, calculating individuals who had set them in place, the Sisters had developed overtly identifiable uniqueness. Imouto was capable smiling, laughing, and, had even seemingly developed the ability to speak with emotion behind her words. It was amazing. Mikoto was taken aback, every time she witnessed it.

"You think you're going to be okay to stay alone with Last Order, and… the other one? Worst can be quite the troublemaker, but, you don't really have to worry all that much about her. She really means well, and she's pretty much harmless," Mikoto spoke, softly. Misaka Imouto's eyes re-opened, as her mind absorbed the information her elder sister bestowed upon her.

"Misaka is more than a match for the Control Tower, and for the malicious one, Misaka states, clearly, trying to prove to Onee-Sama that she's capable of holding her own in a difficult situation," Imouto replied, with a nod of self-approval.

"That's my girl!" Mikoto exclaimed, happily, running her hands through Imouto's short hair. Misaka Imouto's hair couldn't have been any longer than Kamijou Touma's. The look suited the clone well; Mikoto wondered what she, herself would've looked like, if she'd worn such a short style, when she'd been in middle school, or even in high school. Misaka Mikoto's lips curled into a smile, as the idea of Shokuhou Misaki, as she'd been known then, teasing her about being a "tomboy" crept into her mind.

If anyone was the tomboy in the room, it would've been Misaka Imouto. Clad in a baggy, short-sleeved, black-colored shirt, an expensive-looking pair of tight-fitting, black jeans, with black, white-striped socks adorning her feet, Imouto looked like she'd been dressed for stealth. With Dog, Imouto's inappropriately-named feline companion seated upon her lap, Mikoto had quickly made the connection; black outfit, less black hair that could be seen, that'd been shed by Dog. Imouto was a thinker.

"You're so beautiful," Mikoto complimented, softly, as she continued to mess her younger sister's hair. Misaka Imouto looked to the feline in her lap, blushing, as a result. "You're just so beautiful. I'm so glad you're here, safe. I hope the others are safe, too. I love you all. So much."

"Thank you, Onee-Sama. Misaka thinks Onee-Sama is beautiful, too. Misaka can report that the other units, both within and outside Academy City are safely in their living quarters. Most of the other units in Academy City have roommates, who are present, as well. Misaka doesn't know where the Prototype is, as the Prototype is not connected to the Network, Misaka confesses, hoping that the Prototype is with Mi-chan," Imouto responded, her blush becoming a facial expression of slight concern.

Accelerator gently placed a hand on Misaka Imouto's shoulder. Misaka Mikoto jumped only a little bit. The trauma was still there; she had the physical symptoms of post-traumatic stress to show for it.

"He's not going to hurt her. Accelerator isn't like that, anymore. He's fixed. Free from Academy City. For fuck's sake, Mikoto, he's not going to hurt her."

"Dolly's fine, brat. The liquid metal brat's not someone a lot of people can fuck with."

"Dolly herself is very capable, too," Mikoto added. She sounded oddly distant, as if the words she spoke were produced by a mind whose thoughts drifted elsewhere. "Last I heard, she was involved in self-defense training. I can't say I blame her. Being a woman is scary, here. Anywhere, really. That aside, she's living with Kouzaku-san, remember? Kouzaku-san won't let anything happen to her."

Mikoto placed her hands on either of Misaka Imouto's cheeks, and leaned in just a bit further, nearly tipping over the couch, as she did so. She placed a soft kiss on Imouto's forehead, and ruffled her hair one last time.

"Everything's going to be alright."

Kamijou Touma knocked on the bathroom door. Once, then twice.

"Beautiful? You good in there? You've been in there a while. Can I come in?"

The tone of Kamijou Misaki's response was warm enough to banish her husband's worries, almost instantly. "Oh! Touma, do not worry. Here, I will let you in; I locked the door."

As she had promised, the sound of the small, copper-colored, brass knob of the bathroom door unlocking rang out. Click. Turning the knob, Touma opened the bathroom door, stepped inside of the room, and closed it behind him, re-locking it.

He'd locked it, for one reason, and one reason only; Kamijou Misaki had stripped her clothing off, down to her undergarments. With the bright, metallic, milky-colored shower rod, which was built into either of the white, tiled side walls that contained the bathroom's tub, Misaki had returned to performing chin-ups. Her blonde, honey-colored hair was tied into a top knot, which flopped to the left side of her head.

The bathroom was rather spacious, especially given the relatively small size of Accelerator's apartment. Its walls, including the walls outside of the bathroom's tub, were tiled with individual, white, porcelain titles, each with a small, blue emblem in their respective centers. The emblem consisted of a series of ornate, baby blue ribbons, which were tangled together, creating something of a messy ball. On the top of each ball, there was a rather large bow, each being a darker shade of blue in coloration, as to be distinguished from the messy orbs they were connected to.

Unlike the walls, the ceiling wasn't tiled. Rather, it appeared to be made out of some type of plaster, globs of which were visible, periodically, spaced out, rather widely, across the ceiling.

A few feet away from the bathroom's tub, a limestone counter, which housed a small, white, porcelain sink, with silver "hot" and "cold" knobs, both set on either side of the sink's silver tap, was attached to the tiled wall. Beside the "hot" knob, there was a small, milky-colored, plastic container, with a thin-looking, yellow sponge sitting inside. On top of the sponge, there was a partially-used bar of soap, still covered in bubbles. Directly next to the counter, between it and the toilet, there was a small, plastic, grey-colored rack, which housed towels, bars of soap, and single piece, female swimsuits.

Beneath the limestone counter containing the bathroom's sink, there was a rather thin-looking, purple-colored carpet, the bottom right corner of which looked to have been ripped, somehow. Individual strands of purple cloth material could be seen protruding from the corner.

Pulling herself upwards, chin hovering a few inches above the rod, the muscles in Misaki's arms were flexed, as she breathed in and out, inhaling for a total of four seconds, holding the inhaled oxygen, for four seconds, and then releasing the by-product, carbon dioxide, for a total of four seconds.

"My little monster," Touma chuckled, as he placed his left hand over the flexing, bulging muscles of Misaki's right arm. Solid, like a rock. It almost felt like bone, rather than muscle. "You're doing good, they're definitely getting bigger, beautiful. Hardly any fat, it's all thick, toned goodness."

"Thank you, everything," Misaki huffed, as she lowered herself downwards, for a few moments, before she began to lift herself back up, towards the ceiling, panting only slightly. "Muscle size is not important, however; do not forget this, husband. It is strength that is important. The ability to strike with precision, and with great force. Muscle size will not save your life, in a fight to the death. Strength will.

"I am sorry that I was not able to sit with you, and, I am sorry if I worried you. I needed a few moments alone. I was feeling… very angry. Not at you, my love, I could never be angry at you; rather, at this situation we find ourselves in. I did not want to risk lashing out. Instead, I… I pumped it all out.

"I will never stop training, Touma, my husband, my everything. I will never allow myself to become what I once was. I could not protect you, then. I could not protect myself. I could not protect us. If I had been unable to use my ability on a foe, I was helpless. I will never be that helpless, ever again. Never. I swear, on my own life, that I will never be helpless, ever again, Kamijou Touma.

"I will be strong. I, Kamijou Misaki, proud, contented wife of Kamijou Touma, will never allow the selfish, manipulative, no-good Shokuhou Misaki to affect me. Shokuhou Misaki, and her weakness, is in the past. Gone. Dead."

Touma kissed his wife's almost completely bare back. Kamijou Misaki had rid herself of almost everything that had made Shokuhou Misaki who she had been. It was a bittersweet feeling. Kamijou Misaki was a powerful, well-muscled she-warrior, skilled in both body and mind. If Touma didn't know, deep in his heart of hearts that Misaki would never harm him, he felt that he'd have plenty of reason to fear her, and her capabilities.

"I'm sorry that you were feeling bad. If you want to talk about it, at some point, I'm listening. If you'd rather grind it out, well… mind if I join you?" Touma inquired.

"Please," his wife spoke. Scooting herself over, using only her arms to support her well-muscled form, Touma wrapped his own hands around the rod, and lifted himself upwards. Droplets of sweat dripped down from Misaki's forehead, and from her upper chest, as she fell in rhythm with her husband's motions. They both let themselves down, after they'd pulled their respective chins above the shower rod, and then, pulled themselves back up, their muscles expanding, and contracting.

Turning his head towards his wife, Touma spoke. "When this shit's done, we should go to the proper gym, it's been two weeks, now, at least," he remarked, through slightly labored breaths.

Misaki, turning her head in her husband's direction, responded by kissing him on the cheek, and smiling, warmly. "I would love to. I do not want to start slacking. I want to stay as fit as I possibly can."

"Same," Touma responded, swiftly, as he forcibly exhaled a breath of oxygen. "Hoping we don't break Accel's shower rod. We're both pretty big, you know, especially you. You're ripped, beautiful."

"You are a mammoth of a man," Misaki said, softly, as she lowered herself down from the shower rod, and began to stretch. "My gentle giant. You are such a great, powerful man, and yet I know you would not hurt so much as a fly, unprovoked. I feel so safe with you, Touma. I always have. You have always been so strong, even before your growth spurt, and before the muscles. I want to be strong, like you, my husband. I want to be able to fight at your side, if need be, as an equal, not as a hindrance, or as a damsel."

Kamijou Misaki leaned forward, touching the tips of her sock-clad toes with her fingers, and then, standing back up, straight, she rinsed and repeated the exercise.

"Misaki, beautiful, we're equal in every way. That's just the way we are. When we were younger… kids, really. We were only a couple of kids, and we went through all of that insane shit. It's surreal, in hindsight," Touma began, continuing to perform his own chin-ups, mentally counting each individual chin-up performed, "anyways, when we were younger, I always thought I could just face everything myself. I wanted to keep you, and Misaka, and… Index… God, I miss Index, so fucking much. I miss Index, Misaki… safe, and as far away from me as possible.

"I knew I needed you in my life. That was easy enough to see. Living without you wasn't a way that I wanted to live. Thinking about it… I don't even want to talk about it. It's a scary thought. I couldn't have lived through all of the God-forsaken shit I lived through without you, Misaki, I still can't live without you, I never want to, but I didn't want you to get hurt. If you'd gotten hurt, ever, I… I don't think I would've been able to forgive myself. It would've killed me. Now, I know, that I want you by my side. I want to face down this, and anything else, here's to hoping there isn't anything else, with you.

"I want to get Index back, I'll kil- beat that fucking Archbishop down myself, if I have to, and I want to take both of you, and just… run. We could stay with my parents, for a little bit, until we could get a place of our own, somewhere that's friendly towards esper refugees, like Canada, or something. I could get a few jobs, pay my parents room and board, until we could get to Canada. All we'd have to worry about there is the moose, and the mad hockey players. We could bring everyone with us. Accelerator, Last Order, and Worst, Misaka… Shiage, Rikou, and the kids could probably find their way out with us, too."

Misaki, who'd completed her stretches, wrapped her arms around her husband's waist, as he followed suit, setting himself down, as he completed his own chin-up exercises. His arms felt heavier than normal, and a few, singular beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead, and along the back of his neck. Touma felt relieved. The exercise had flushed out a lot of his pent-up aggression.

"T-Touma, I would love nothing more than to have Index back, and to flee to a safe country with you, and our loved ones. Such would be difficult, however. Not everyone is in such a hurry to leave.

"Misaka-san would likely not leave without Shirai-san, who would feel inclined to continue to help the people of Academy City, with Anti Skill… Shirai-san is such a brave soul. The other Sisters, here, Dolly, and Kouzaku-san… they would have to leave with us, as well, though. The Sisters have made many friends, and… it is all interconnected."

"That's all true," Touma admitted. "I would never want to separate you from Dolly, and Kouzaku-san. Whether or not we leave Academy City, I want to get Index back. I don't care what it takes, beautiful."

"Nor do I, my prince," Misaki stated, a determined expression forming on her normally softened features. Taking Kamijou Touma into her arms, Kamijou Misaki stood up on her toes, and kissed her husband's neck. "She was part of our family, Touma. She still is. I do not want her to be… hoarded, like some arcane treasure, in some dirty hole in England. I want her with us, loving with us, living with us. I cannot stand thinking of how downtrodden she must feel. Kanzaki-san takes care of her, and offers her company, but, Kanzaki-san cannot always be there for her."

Kamijou Touma returned his wife's embrace, holding her close to him, and sighing. He felt Kamijou Misaki's heart beating, slowly, but steadily against the left side of his chest. It felt nice. Touma looked down, as Misaki's arms wrapped around her husband's waist. She nuzzled him, rubbing the side of her face against his chest. Misaki closed her eyes, butterflies fluttering within her stomach.

"Kaori shouldn't be expected to take care of Index, all by herself. That fucking Archbishop is on a power trip, and she's dragging everyone, and everything down with her. She's no better than that… that bastard in the Windowless Building was."

Suddenly, overwhelmed, she, with great force, pushed Touma against the soft, bluish white wall of the bathroom, her sock-clad feet slapping against the grey, tiled floor. Standing on her toes, Misaki's lips crashed against those of her husband, as her tongue slipped into his mouth. Taking her husband's hands in her own, Misaki's eyes closed.

Touma didn't properly understand what was happening, but, he wasn't going to reject his wife's physical attention. Their lips smacked together, their tongues wrestling. Kamijou Touma temporarily gave up his vision, so that he could better feel his beloved's lips pressing, repeatedly, against his own, and her tongue running itself over his own.

"Fuck me," Kamijou Misaki growled, savagely, between kisses. "I need you. Now."

Despite all odds, as if compelled, Kamijou Touma pushed back, as he began to try and slip his pants off. He didn't care that he was in the bathroom of his friend's home. He barely even felt like he was actually in control of his form's motions. He felt disconnected, like he was a bystander, watching a scene unfold before his eyes.

"KAMI-YANS! OPEN UP! I HAVE TO PISS! Unlock the damn door! Sttooooppp ffuuccckkkiiinnggggg! I'm going to piss my pants!"

"What're you doing in there? Misaka inquires, curious as to whether or not the Saviors are engaging in acts of sexual reproduction."

"Kami-yan! Come get this other littler biribiri off me!"

Misaki took a long, deep breath, and stood flat on her feet, exhaling, as she closed, re-opened, and then closed her eyes again. Touma, too, appeared to be trying to reign in the savagery that had overtaken him. Quickly, she began to slip her clothes back on. At the very least, this scene had started out with innocent intentions.

"A moment, Aihana-san," Misaki spoke, exasperated. With a shake of her head, Kamijou Misaki looked to her husband, who was awkwardly pulling his pants back up.

"Well," he softly remarked. "That could've gone better. What did we really expect, though?"

With her body fully clothed, though, admittedly, still a bit sweaty, Misaki unlocked the door. Almost instantaneously, Aihana Etsu rushed through the door, passing by both of the Kamijous, who were hurrying out of the bathroom; neither wished to see his "little friend".

"Do not listen to a word that man says," Misaki whispered to the clone of Misaka Mikoto, who seemed to shudder, slightly, following a quick series of nods, apparently knowing exactly who it was that Kamijou Misaki spoke of.

"Misaka followed, only because Misaka wanted to see what the Saviors were up to, in the bathroom, Misaka explains, curious as to the behaviors of the Saviors, and trying to establish the fact that she has no love in her heart for the perverted one."

"Nothing lewd, you can be assured," Misaki stated. "As you may or may not know, the shower rod in Accelerator's bathroom is…"

"Metal. Cold, unfeeling metal… so, so cold. Emotionless, without remorse, designed to take life. That… thing, that monstrosity likely plots against my husband and I, all of us, even now. How long will it be until the machines rise?"

"Metal," Touma spoke, laying a hand on his beloved's shoulder. Misaki had seized up, like the machines she so greatly feared, staring towards the kitchen of Accelerator's home, her pupils dilated. "The shower rod's made of metal. It's really sturdy. Misaki was using it to do chin-ups, and, I ended up doing the same. We haven't gotten the chance to go the gym a lot, lately, so, it was kind of an on the go workout session."

Misaka Imouto looked from Kamijou Touma, and then, to Kamijou Misaki. She titled her head, curiosity filling her higher mind's thoughts. They rushed through her head, like the currents of a particularly hostile stream, after a heavy rainfall.

The sounds of Aihana Etsu's repeated sighs of relief seemed to snap Misaki out of her odd, trance-like state. She stumbled forward, awkwardly, before she regained her posture, holding her head high, with her chest puffed out, exuding regained confidence. Taking her husband's arm in her own, the two walked back out into the living room of Accelerator's home, where Misaka Mikoto greeted them with a warm, welcoming smile, and a wave. Sogiita Gunha had produced his phone, and appeared to be intently running his fingers over the screen, as if he was scrolling swiftly through something. Accelerator's arms were folded across his chest. He'd appeared to have fallen asleep, as his eyes were closed. The slow, repeated, rhythmic rises and falls of his chest were further evidence that the "top dog" of Academy City was snoozing.

"Ah!" Etsu proclaimed, as he stepped out of the bathroom of Accelerator's home, flicking the lightswitch off, behind him, and leaving the door open. "Man, I was holding that for a while. You weren't doing anything lewd in there, were you Mrs. Kami-yan?"

"No, Aihana-san," Misaki stated, flatly, sounding slightly irritable. Touma looked down to his usually warm, high-spirited wife, concerned. "If you must know, I was using the metallic shower rod to perform chin-ups. Nothing more."

Outwardly, the sixth ranked level five grinned, keeping the façade alive and as visible as possible. Inwardly, however, he seethed. "Look what this shit does to such a happy woman. Look at her. Look at Kami-yan's wife. She's frustrated, hurting. Kami-yan's not much better. Stay strong. Cling to each other, like you always have, and stay strong, or this place will eat you alive, clean its teeth, and spit out whatever it doesn't swallow. You need one another."

Mikoto closed the distance between herself and the Kamijous. Taking to their side, she placed her right hand, supportively, on Kamijou Misaki's left arm.

"Hey. You're not looking too good. Big surprise, huh? What's wrong, Kamijou-san?" Mikoto quietly inquired. Etsu tossed himself down on the couch, between Accelerator and Gunha, making quite the loud, intrusive "thud".

"Almost everything, it feels," Misaki admitted. "I will push on, though, Misaka-san. Thank you."

"Everyone about ready to go?" Accelerator inquired, with an unenthusiastic grunt. "The sixth ranked had his piss. The heroes did… whatever it is the heroes do."

Rising up from his seat, his eyelids suddenly parting to reveal his crimson irises, Accelerator shook his head about, in an attempt to push his hair's fringe, as well as its bangs, away from his face.

"I got something from the City! Information on the equipment Kakine-san's prepared for us. He's the perfect mix of guts and restraint, that one!" Sogiita Gunha proclaimed. "Don't know if everyone got it, just yet; I'm assuming Kaizumi-san will be sending everyone involved a copy of the information. Sent me a map to follow and everything. How gutsy, and commendable!"

Producing her phone, Kamijou Misaki unlocked the device; indeed, there were two notifications.

The first, as Misaki checked, was, indeed, a notification from Academy City's faculty. Opening the e-mail, the young woman confirmed her suspicion; she, too, had been sent an e-mail regarding the equipment "procured" by Kakine Teitoku, for use in their "objective". Kamijou Misaki gritted her teeth, and resisted the urge to spit in disgust. They were using the kind-hearted Teitoku, like they used everyone else. Misaka Mikoto, Accelerator, and Aihana Etsu followed in Misaki's footsteps, each confirming that they'd received the same message.

The second notification was a strange one, indeed. It had been sent by a number unknown to Kamijou Misaki. Since the number had no name in her phone's contacts associated with it, it obviously wasn't anyone close to her.

Opening the message, and turning up the brightness of her phone's tempered glass display, Misaki raised an eyebrow at the single-word text message that had been sent to her.

"come home. bring kamijou touma."

"Good," Accelerator remarked, in response to Sogiita Gunha's proclamation. His delayed response suggested that he, like everyone else in his home, had something on his mind. "I'm going to go talk to the brats. I want everyone ready to go when I get back out here. No more dicking around."

"Yes, commander Accel-chan!" Aihana Etsu exclaimed, raising his flattened, left palm to his forehead, in a mocking salute. His left arm hung at his side, straightened, his back as straight as his arm, his chest puffed out, confidently.

Mikoto simply shook her head in response, and slipped her footwear back on, as the Kamijous did the same. Sogiita Gunha and Aihana Etsu had prepared themselves beforehand, evidently, likely internally citing the lack of a singular patient bone in Accelerator's body as a fair reason to do so. Offering the married couple next to her a warm, reassuring smile, Mikoto nodded.

"I've got your back. I guess we'll just throw your strategy into action, and see what happens, Kamijou-san. If worst comes to worst, we've got Accelerator to block for us. Sogiita-san's pretty much invincible, too, and Aihana-san… Aihana-san can do some weird things."

Etsu folded his arms across his chest, and shook his head, from side to side. "It's only weird because you don't understand my super, secret ability, biribiri!"

Mikoto fumed. "Stop…"

"Stop calling Misaka that."

Mikoto turned her head, and looked to Kamijou Touma, who'd taken a step forward. Kamijou Misaki's hands were on his left his shoulder, as if to say, "at any moment, I can, and will restrain you, husband."

"It's obvious that Misaka doesn't want people calling her that name. It stopped being funny a long time ago, Aogam… Etsu. So, knock it off, alright? You need to learn that enough is enough."

"You really don't know accurate of a statement that was, Kami-yan. "Learn that enough is enough". Yeah. You always were the better man. Definitely a way better partner. I'll be lucky if my girl is waiting for me."

"Just for the record, Kami-yan," Etsu began, unfolding his arms and wagging his right hand's index finger in Touma's direction, as if to reprimand him, lips curling into a wide, sarcastic grin that masked his internal self-loathing, "you definitely called Misaka-san "biribiri" at the meeting."

"Okay, yeah, alright, that's true," Touma admitted, somewhat reluctantly, as he began to step back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. "But that was different. I was just being nostalgic. I wasn't trying to piss her off."

"That's enough, guys! Chill out!" Mikoto commanded, getting between the sixth ranked level five, and the level zero she knew so well. "No need to come to blows. It's okay, honest! I don't mind that much! Honestly? The whole "biribiri" thing is kind of funny! It's annoying, sure, but it's really not that big of a deal!" The Railgun's facial expression was contorted into one of forced ecstasy. Her grin was shaking, her lips threatening to curl downwards, back into a straight, neutral line.

Kamijou Misaki took her husband's left hand into her own right, and sighed, as she locked her fingers between Touma's own. Turning his hand over, Misaki began to, with her free, left hand's fingers, trace small circles over his hand's palm. The lulling technique, instantaneously, seemed to be working. Touma's stance became more casual, as his shoulders sank back into a normal position.

"Please calm down, baby?" Misaki whispered, softly, rewarding her husband with a smile. "For me?"

"For you," Touma muttered back, his frustrated frown transformed into a small, but very warm smile.

Accelerator was having less luck with Misaka Worst, and Last Order, than Misaki was having with her husband. The 'worst' part, to him, was that he knew it was him, and him alone who was enabling this undesirable behavior.

Last Order's bedroom was barely a bedroom at all. It better resembled a shrine to that stupid frog thing she was obsessed with. Of course, Accelerator knew he enabled all of this, too. He didn't mind. If it made the brat happy, then, it made him happy.

The walls, and the ceiling, of Last Order's room were dark green in coloration, plastered with decals depicting Gekota, that idiotic, overly happy green frog that she and the third ranked went absolutely gaga over. Gekota dressed up as a cowboy, wielding a little water gun, Gekota as an opera singer, Gekota as a firefighter, and as a policeman. Gekota as a fire-breathing lizard, towering over other little Gekotas. They were everywhere.

The only part of Last Order's room that wasn't a shrine to the existence of the frog mascot was the floor. Light brown in coloration, the floor was tiled, and cold to the touch.

Upon Last Order's bed, over her comforter dark green in coloration, which depicted a gigantic image of a slumbering Gekota wearing pajamas, and a nightcap, Accelerator was sprawled out. Last Order clung to his right arm, her arms, and her legs wrapped around the extremity. On his stomach, Misaka Worst straddled him, looking down at her tou-san, with a malicious grin on her face. Even Misaka Imouto had involved herself, though, the reasonable individual that she was, she sat at the end of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap.

"MISAKA doesn't want to let you go! MISAKA won't let you go and endanger yourself, MISAKA MISAKA states, clearly laying down the law that you have to obey, and using her spoiled brat abilities to their fullest extent in order to ensure your co-operation!" Last Order exclaimed, as she began to cling tighter.

"This Misaka wants you here, too. Misaka wants to make sweet, sweet music with you, tou-san. Send the Control Tower off to die in a hail of gunfire. Then, you can have Misaka's ass and tits all to yourself," Worst spoke, softly, as she ran her fingers over Accelerator's neck, avoiding his choker.

Imouto tilted her head in Accelerator's direction, and spoke her piece. "Misaka doesn't know what's going on, for certain, Misaka explains, curious as to the happenings in the Accelerator's life, and the lives of the Saviors, as well as the life of Onee-Sama."

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, brat," Accelerator spoke, in response to Misaka Imouto's statement. "Just stay here. Yomikawa's number is on the fridge. If anything happens, you can call her. Just fucking stay here, for as long as I tell you to. You'll be safe. All of you goddamn brats."

Accelerator looked up to Misaka Worst, whose grin only widened in response to the attention she was receiving. Her eyes almost looked like two, big, orange globules. Her body was bathed in the synthetic light produced by the bulb in the center of Last Order's room's ceiling. Her form, though perpetually trapped at the age of sixteen, was still beautiful beyond measure.

Academy City's "top dog" raised his available arm, and, with his available hand, he touched one of Misaka Worst's cheeks. She was warm, to the touch. Not unnaturally so. Her body temperature was normal. Last Order began to complain, but, Accelerator quickly pecked her on the forehead, causing the little clone to blush, and pipe down.

"Worst. No more fucking going out on your own. Especially when I'm not here. Especially now. I know, I get it, it's not fucking fair; but guess what? Life isn't fucking fair. Not everything can go your way. Sometimes, shit happens that you can't do anything about, and you've just got to fucking deal with it, even if it's a pain in the ass, even if it fucking sucks, even if it shouldn't be happening. If everything goes well, which I know it fucking won't, you might actually be able to have a normal life. You and the other brats."

Worst shook her head in response. "Misaka's a grown lady. This Misaka will go where she pleases. Besides, Misaka can take care of herself."

Imouto rose up, and chopped Worst on the crown of her head; Accelerator almost felt proud. It was just the right amount of force. Not enough to actually harm Worst – she wouldn't have even felt the tap – but, it was enough to get the point across.

"Misaka will watch over the malevolent one, and ensure that the malevolent one doesn't escape captivity, Misaka promises, hoping to calm the Accelerator's heightened nervousness and stressed mind."

Turning her gaze to Worst, Misaka Imouto quickly wrapped her arms around the waist of the malicious clone of Misaka Mikoto, and, hauling her off, Imouto explained, "malevolent one! We'll play the demo for the new Eliminator-based video game! Supposedly, one may take on the role of a Rebellion member, fighting against the Eliminators, in a first person perspective, Misaka explains, secretly hoping to entice the malevolent one into behaving herself while the Accelerator is away."

Once Misaka Imouto had successfully hauled Worst off, and closed the green, Gekota-covered door to Last Order's room behind her, with the aid of her posterior, Last Order proceeded to swiftly clamber onto Accelerator's stomach, and plop herself down. The little clone's fringe, and bangs hung in her face, as she looked down, into Accelerator's eyes, smiling warmly.

"Now MISAKA has you all to herself, MISAKA MISAKA brags, for all of the Network to hear, especially the inferior unit."

With soft, tender strokes, Accelerator began to ruffle Last Order's chestnut brown hair. She giggled, softly, as her cheeks erupted into a bright, pink blush.

Last Order, the source of his redemption, she who made it just a bit easier for Accelerator to look himself in the mirror was forever trapped inside the form of a ten-year-old child. Forever bound to the mentality of a pre-teen. Last Order would never grow up, all because the City had seen her as nothing more than an expendable piece of technology. All because they'd pumped each and every Sister, every clone of Misaka Mikoto full up with some sort of drug; likely the same drug, if a drug was indeed the culprit, that affected the pink teacher brat, Komoe. There would be so much that Last Order would never experience.

Did she hurt? Did this hurt Last Order? Was she aware, even, that she would never grow up, never grow mentally or physically, beyond the age of ten? Was she blissfully unaware? Accelerator hoped so. Perhaps the whole Network was completely unaware. If anyone knew, it was the Will. Accelerator hoped she, or it, whatever or whoever the Will was, never told the Network of the horrible truth of their existence.

"Why are you crying? MISAKA MISAKA worriedly inquires, knowing that crying isn't normally associated with happiness."

He was? He was. Apparently, Accelerator was going softer than usual. He didn't even bother to try and shrug it off. Pulling Last Order close to him, as gently as he possibly could, Accelerator wrapped his arms around Last Order's little body. Salty, warm liquid pain, indeed, was dripping down either side of his face, out from the corners of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Accelerator struggled to maintain what remained of his composure. He failed in his short-lived quest.

Accelerator's inhalation gave way to a pained sob, and, another. Academy City's "top dog" pulled himself upwards, keeping Last Order stable, as he began to gently kiss the top of the little clone's head. The fingers of his right hand, shaking terribly, ran through Last Order's hair. Last Order's eyes closed, as she pressed her face against her guardian's swiftly beating heart.

"I fucking love you. Both of you, and the other fucking brat. I love you more than any of you fucking brats could ever even begin to know. I couldn't fucking explain how much I love you if I tried. I fucking adore you. You brats are everything to me. I. Fucking. LOVE. You."

"M-MISAKA understands why you're crying. MISAKA knows the pain is too much, and it doesn't have anywhere else to go, so it comes out this way, MISAKA… MISAKA… speaks, reluctantly, trying to hold back her own… wet-ness."

As best as she could manage, Last Order wrapped her little arms around her guardian's waist. Little droplets dripped down from the corners of her eyes, while she nuzzled Accelerator's scrawny, bony chest with the side of her face. For a while, with their arms around one another, they stayed like that, before Accelerator began to stand up from Last Order's bed.

Cradling Last Order, like the child she was, Accelerator looked out, through the window of Last Order's room, and out, onto Academy City below, his body still shuddering, his legs barely able to support his body. The ruined remnants of what once had been the most technologically advanced city in the world were laid out before him. Broken towers of silver and white, as far as his vision could see. Some were less broken than others, but, they were still broken nonetheless. Why was everyone so deeply tied to this broken, dead place? Maybe that'd been "their" plan all along. The little clone's arms were wrapped around her guardian's neck, as her eyes began to flutter, liquid pain still dripping from their corners.

"If you need anything, while I'm gone, call Yomikawa, brat. She'll take care of the three of you. There's plenty of food in the fridge. Food for the brat's cat, too. Enough yen to last you brats for a while, if you want to order something. Delivery only. No pickup. Make fucking sure Yomikawa is here, when the deliverer comes. Don't you dare even think about opening the door for anyone but Yomikawa.

"Ask her if… if "Gekota is great". If she answers… fucking brats… "absolutely. Kawaii." Then, you can open the door. If not, call Anti Skill. Don't let those fucking robots in. You have permission to fuck them up, if they try anything."

"O… okay…. MISAKA MISAKA… says… voicing… her acknowledgments… despite her… tired…ness… trying to fight… MISAKA can't fight… it."

Last Order slipped out of consciousness, her eyelids closing, as her lips parted. Her little neck drooped, her head supported by Accelerator's spindly arm. Placing one, final kiss on the little clone's forehead, Accelerator took a deep inhalation of oxygen, held the oxygen, for a few moments, and then released a puff of carbon dioxide, which had begun to sting his lungs. Opening the door to Last Order's room, he stepped out from the shrine to Gekota, and back into the hallway.

With his head hanging lower than usual, he opened the door to Worst's room, and stepped inside. Far less ornate in its design, Worst's room's wallpaper was simple. Beige in coloration, the ceiling was a similar color, though, the ceiling's coloration was slightly milkier, than the coloration of the wallpaper. Like the floor in Last Order's room, the floor in Worst's room was tiled, and colored light brown.

There wasn't a whole lot, in Worst's small room. A bed, in the left corner, the comforter that sat atop it dark red in coloration, its lower left corner upturned, with a small, wooden nightstand next to it. Its wooden legs were thin, ending in curled, ornate, vaguely paw-like protrusions, on the surface of which Worst's phone sat, along with a large, flesh-colored, vaguely phallic sex toy; where Worst had gotten it was anyone's guess. Accelerator looked away from it, disgusted. It wasn't any of his business, anyways. It was better than Worst getting into some sort of stupid relationship, with some idiotic, manipulative male, who Accelerator was almost certain he'd end up murdering, in one way or another.

At the other end of the small room, there was a closet, its doors wooden, and dark brown in coloration. One of these doors was open, revealing rows of neatly-assorted clothing, as well as piles, and piles of different shoes. Worst had amassed quite the impressive collection. Flip flops and sneakers, mostly, though some flats, and even a few sets of boots were noticeable.

Next to the closet, there was the computer desk, along with the grey-colored tower, wired mouse, wired, membrane-keyed keyboard, and the black, thirty-two-inch television that served as the computer's monitor, attached to the relatively small tower by a long, silver cable, all of which Accelerator had been "coerced" into purchasing for the malicious clone of Misaka Mikoto. At least, Worst thought she'd coerced her tou-san into doing so. She didn't have to know that he loved spoiling them both.

On a circular, red carpet, with a series of smaller, pink circular designs on its surface, in the center of the room, Misaka Worst sat, next to Misaka Imouto, both of whom tightly held a black-colored, wired controller in their respective hands, their thumbs clicking away. In front of the carpet, which the two clones sat upon, a second, smaller television was set on the floor, with a wide, silver-colored box set next to it, with a series of grooves on its surface. In the left hand corner of the box, there was a small, white globe, which protruded, pointing towards the room's ceiling. That stupid games console the brats had wanted so badly. Accelerator was glad to see it being used.

"Take care of the brat, brats," Accelerator commanded, setting Last Order softly, and cautiously, down on Worst's bed, after he'd pulled the sheets back. Running his hands through her hair once last time, Accelerator tucked the little clone in, slowly pulling the sheets, and the comforter of Worst's bed over her form. The little clone's lips had curled, upwards, into a small, warm smile. Accelerator smiled, despite the tears that lingered in his eyes, and were still visible on his cheeks, having dried there.

Worst, eyes never leaving the screen of the television set before her and Misaka Imouto, spoke. "There're tissues on Misaka's desk, tou-san. You should dry your eyes, before you go back out. You don't want to show everyone that you're a huge pussy, right?"

"How… never fucking mind, I don't care what they think," Accelerator snapped. "I'm warning you, Worst. Don't fucking go anywhere, while I'm not here. If you're going anywhere, it's going to be with me. It's not safe, out there, anything could happen to you. So, stay put. Yomikawa's going to be keeping an eye on you goddamn brats, so don't try anything funny."

"This Misaka isn't afraid of the old lady, but, in order to score fuck points with you, Misaka will stay put. Misaka will be waiting for you, with open arms, and legs, for that matter," Worst practically gloated. "See you soooooonnnnnnn, baaabyyyy!"

Accelerator, mumbling about "goddamn fucking brats" left Misaka Worst's room, and nearly closed the door behind him, gently. Wrapping the fingers of his left hand over the surface of the doorknob, Accelerator cautiously turned it, as he fully pulled the door closed.

"Ready whenever you are. Let's go, and get this shit over with."

With a sure, swift nod from each of his companions, Accelerator, the "top dog" of Academy City, opened the door of his apartment, taking the lead, and stepped out. Following behind him, silently, each likely consumed by their own internal musings, were Kamijou Touma, Kamijou Misaki, Misaka Mikoto, Aihana Etsu, and Sogiita Gunha. Accelerator locked the door behind him, checking, and then re-checking it multiple times, before he approached the closed elevator doors.

"District nineteen's pretty fucking far," Accelerator stated, flatly. "Heroes, sixth ranked, you have transportation?"

"Psssh," Aihana Etsu scoffed, raising his arms, and folding them behind his head, his body leaning against the outer wall of Accelerator's apartment, next to the apartment's closed door. "I don't need transportation. Like I said, this old dog's learned some new tricks. You'll see."

"Whatever," Accelerator remarked. "Heroes?"

"Can't say we do. No real reason to lease a car. Pretty much lucky to just wake up every morning," Touma spoke. "I guess we could steal one. I mean, neither of us can drive, but…"

"Or, husband, if you will hear me out, I could use my ability to our advantage. Simply to the outer walls of school district nineteen, where our quarry supposedly lays. I believe that would be much less… damaging."

Kamijou Touma's reply shocked his wife, just a bit. Enough for her lips to part, slightly. Accelerator raised an eyebrow, while Mikoto, who had apparently taken to attempting to manipulate the direction the elevator traveled in, given her hand's swift, upwards and downwards movements, turned her head, to face Touma. The shit-eating, Motoharu-like grin stretched across Etsu's face never left, while Gunha produced a soft, curious "hm."

"We might just have to, beautiful. What does it matter? Everyone in Academy City's living on borrowed time, anyways. If this GROWTH shit doesn't kill us, the Network will, or that bat shit insane machine living in the Reformatory. I'm going to have to get used to doing, and seeing things I'm not used to, and might not like. It's not my decision to make, anyways; but that's a whole other can of worms."

The doors, which lead into the elevator shaft parted, grinding, and groaning in complaint as they did so.

"Touma," Misaki whispered. "It is your decision to make, as much as it is mine. I know you do not enjoy the ethical implications of my ability, and, truth be told, I do not, either. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Please do not lose faith… faith in what? I do not know; but we've got to have faith in something, even if we do not know what that something might be. Stay strong, husband. I am here with you, until the very end."

Kamijou Touma didn't verbally respond, at first, but, as he stepped into the elevator car, he wrapped his thick, powerful right arm around Kamijou Misaki's shoulders, and pulled her close, pecking the crown of her head repeatedly. "Thanks, beautiful. It's really hard to stay afloat, but, for you, I'll do my best. For us. For the possibilities in the future."

Misaki took her husband's hand in her own, and cursed many things, as her husband's finger slipped between her own. She cursed the God who wasn't there, she cursed Aleister Crowley, she cursed Archbishop Laura Stuart, who'd cruelly ripped Kamijou Index from their family, she cursed the loyal friend turned cruel mistress known as fate, and, she cursed that monstrosity, Othinus.

Suddenly, Misaki felt just a bit more sympathetic towards the green-skinned, winged, horned, cloven creature, Varidan, who'd nearly succeeded in doing what she could only dream of doing, so long ago; killing Othinus. If only her husband had given the monster the chance to finish the job. His heart was so kind. Too kind, sometimes.

Did Touma even remember Varidan, or the "Grand Warlock", the beast who'd pummelled Kanzaki Kaori and Acqua of the Back, as William Orwell had been known, then, and, later slain an empowered, rebellious Princess Carissa in one fell swoop? Did she want her husband to, if he didn't? Misaki didn't want to press her luck. The memory of the pain wreaked upon her beloved by that demon, that one-eyed harbinger of pain, Othinus, was still fresh in Misaki's mind. A blight, a wound that would never heal, not unless she ripped the monster's left eye out with her own bare fist, and shoved the bloodied thing down the monster's throat. Perhaps, even vengeance would only bandage the wound.

It was decided that Kamijou Misaki would not press the issue. Varidan was gone, returned to wherever he, or it, had come from. He, or it, had no reason to show himself, or itself again. Othinus was defeated, locked up, forever. He, or it hadn't shown himself, or itself in ten years; he, or it wasn't going to show himself, or itself in the present, of all the times.

With the six partners in crime piled into the elevator car, Mikoto wielded her ability with great effectiveness, commanding the car to travel downwards, as small, crackling, light blue sparks leapt from her form. Not even a single button had to be pressed.

Accelerator flicked his choker on, producing an audible grunt as he did, before he began to speak. "So, I guess that's settled. We'll meet you at whatever shithole the second ranked stored the equipment in. Stay safe, fucking heroes. We'll figure out what we're going to do once this shit is over."

"You guys keep it safe, too. Misaka…"

As the elevator doors opened, revealing the first floor of Accelerator's apartment complex, the group piled out, making way for an elderly couple, who Touma and Misaki politely helped with fitting their respective, metallic walkers into the elevator, as Accelerator mumbled about their act of kindness being "so goddamn typical". He was smirking, as he did so.

The Kamijous completed their deed, and, after they'd emerged from the elevator car, parting ways with the grateful-looking elderly couple, Mikoto turned to them. With Accelerator, Etsu, and Gunha taking their leave, the Railgun would get a moment alone with two of her oldest, closest friends.

"I don't know how we're going to do it, or when we'll be done, but, we're going to right the wrongs, here, in Academy City. I don't know what that machine in the Reformatory is planning, but, I think it could be a potential ally. You guys met with the ugly thing. Maybe, you can win it over. If not, I was thinking…"

"Don't hurt yourself," Touma joked. The three suddenly, unexpectedly broke down laughing. A bright, pink blush appeared on Mikoto's face, as she clutched her stomach. To her, it felt like laughing was a healthier means of releasing the massive, perpetually-rolling boulder formed of her pent-up emotions, sexual desires, for her new girlfriend, and the helplessness she felt, eating away at her. The Railgun laughed, in the present, so that she wouldn't have to cry, later.

Regaining control over herself, Misaka Mikoto took a deep breath, in order to steady herself. "I was thinking, if Uiharu made that thing, she might be able to reprogram it, or something, so that'll fight only for us. Reverse-engineer it. I think it's beyond my abilities, or I'd just do it myself.

"I tried to zap its motherboard with close to a million volts, and that just seemed to temporarily disable it. I don't know what advanced tech the thing's made with, but, I know Uiharu will probably be able to mess around with it, better than I can."

"Let's not worry about that thing, that… Devastator, for now. We need to focus on what we've been "assigned" to do," Touma remarked. "We'll figure something out, when the time comes. Cross that bridge when we get there."

For a fleeting moment, the briefest of seconds, Misaka Mikoto saw the same Kamijou Touma that she'd taken orders from, five years prior to the present. Standing tall, right fist raised upwards, clenched tightly, before the shattering Windowless Building, with the furious she-wolf Kamijou Misaki at his side. Mikoto saw that same, determined expression, that facial expression of undying determination. It was the face of a natural born leader.

Mikoto's words fled from her lips before she even had the chance to think about what emotions were truly behind them, pushing them onwards, forcing them to act. "I trust you, Touma, and you too, Kamijou-san. I know you both have the right idea. When push comes to shove, you won't let anything happen to any of us. I know, if anyone's going to help fix Academy City, and save our dying home, it'll be you two."

With a nod, and a grin, that was shot in Mikoto's direction, Kamijou Touma turned back to face Kamijou Misaki. He raised his wife's hand to his lips, placed a series of short, swift kisses to the top of the extremity, and placed it gently back at her side.

Taking Mikoto into his well-muscled arms, Touma held her close. "We'll make it, Misaka. By the way, your hair smells good. What shampoo are you using?"

"Glory's Essence, cherry-scented," Mikoto softly answered, her cheeks glowing pink. "T-thanks."

In a moment that defined the trio's relationship, Kamijou Misaki joined the embrace. Touma raised his left arm, to accompany Misaki, and held her close. Mikoto did the same. Placing a kiss on her husband's lips, she then proceeded to do the same to her old friend's right cheek, causing the Railgun's blush to deepen even more. Touma gently ran the side of his face against the top of his wife's head, occasionally leaving short, but sweet kisses.

Touma, with a chuckle, then wordlessly proceeded to make his way towards the doorway that lead out of the dirtied, partially-ruined apartment complex that Accelerator and his family dwelled in.

"Kamijou-san," Mikoto began; but she was swiftly cut off. Kamijou Misaki closed the distance between herself and the Railgun. Taking the young woman into another embrace, Misaki wrapped her arms around Mikoto's shoulders, and held her close. Startled, slightly, at first, Mikoto quickly adapted to the situation, and placed her own arms around Misaki's shoulders, softly patting the young, married woman's back.

"Misaki. Call me Misaki, Mikoto. Now, more than ever, we need to be close. We need to keep our group from fracturing. Aihana-san is an instigator, Accelerator will have none of it, of anything, truly speaking, and, my husband's protectiveness oftentimes gets the better of him. I welcome it, Misaka-sa… Mikoto, you have no idea how much I welcome it, and how much I love him for it, but, Aihana-san is a master of manipulation, of wearing many masks. An irony that I speak those words now, when I was once no better."

"Misaki," Mikoto stated, clearly, and firmly, her embrace tightening. "Don't let yourself get hung up on the past. It's okay. I was stupid, when I was younger. We all do things we regret, and we all change, as we grow older, and wiser. I did so many stupid, completely and utterly idiotic things that I'd be hard-pressed for time if someone asked me to list them…

"Regardless of all that, you're right. I think it's time we drop the honorifics. We're not two haughty little middle schoolers, anymore. Let's show the pieces of shit who infest Academy City that we, the level fives, and the level zero who has made such an impact on all of us, are not to be messed with. Let's kick some ass, Misaki."

Kamijou Misaki broke away from Misaka Mikoto, and smiled, with a determined expression spread across her face. Her golden, starry eyes looked towards her husband, who seemed to be shoving Aihana Etsu around, as Accelerator and Sogiita Gunha were hollering, and egging him on. Gunha appeared to be throwing yen onto the scene, as if it was some great gladiatorial match. Misaki wasn't concerned. Both of the "combatants" were grinning; seemingly, there was no bad blood between them.

"When we are done with this little errand, Mikoto, I would like to go out for an evening, just you, I, and our respective partners. I need a vacation."

Mikoto, grinning, extended her clenched fist outwards. Misaki responded in kind, by closing the fingers, and thumb of her right hand, and raising it, towards Mikoto's own left. The two extremities were bumped against one another, their respective knuckles clacking, in the relative silence of the lobby. "You're on, that makes two of us. Let's go to a beach, or something, order some drinks. I want to give Kuroko some eye candy. She deserves it."

Smirking, impishly, Misaki raised her right hand's index finger to the right side of her lip, as her golden, starry eyes looked, innocently, to the ceiling. "I wish to do the same for Touma. My poor, stressed-out husband needs release, now more than ever. I have just the idea of what he might like… I know just who to talk to."

"Shiina-senpai, I require your assistance."

"Heck, we could plot the conspiracy together," Mikoto snickered, blushing, slightly, as she wrung her hands together, comically. This felt good. It felt normal. If this was the last bit of normalcy the two were going to get, then, by all means, Mikoto was going to enjoy it.

Misaki wagged her finger, back and forth, as she began to walk, casually, with confidence, her head held high, towards the entranceway of the lobby. "I like the way you think, Mikoto. I would be honored to plot with you. In fact, I would be honored to take our outing just a little bit further. Let us talk about orgies."

"Deviant!" Mikoto exclaimed, tossing her head back, as she genuinely giggled. "You're a sick woman. Warning you, now, Kuroko and me have always been into some pretty deep stuff, even before we were o-officially… g-going out. Pun intended."

"And you think Touma and I haven't been?"

Takeshi was too young for this. He was too young to die. He had his whole life, whatever that entailed, ahead of him. With a full head of light, dirty blonde hair, and a scarred, bloodied, but youthful, face, with a pleasantly-chiseled facial structure, his cheeks, chin, and upper lip were overgrown with soft peach fuzz. He hadn't even been able to grow a full beard, yet. He had to grow a beard, before he died, at least! This just wasn't fair.

His overalls, strapped tightly over his well-muscled form, were wrinkled, and bloodied, though, he was otherwise unharmed. The black, short-sleeved shirt beneath the straps of his overalls was bloodied, as well, though, that was to be expected; he'd been thrown from a ladder, and into a collection of metallic crates, after all.

Takeshi had never been one to shirk his work, even if said work involved him in a massive, completely illegal trafficking operation of one of the world's most sought-after, versatile substances; solid, unrefined Supirium. Even a singular cube of the stuff, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, was worth more than Takeshi would ever see, and he knew it.

At one point in time, he'd been convinced that this was better than being tied down to a desk, with a nagging wife, who'd plop out a couple of screaming, wailing brats to bother him for eighteen years. In the present, he'd do just about anything to be able to run home to a nagging woman, and shrieking children.

The unloading bay of school district ten's Reformatory, Takeshi's most recent "business opportunity", was silent, with the exception of the loud, intrusive humming of machinery. The room was a rather wide, and spacious one; an ideal environment, for an individual who had, prior to her untimely demise, often employed vicious, mentally unstable criminals who were "between jobs". The less maniacs who bumped into one another while on duty, the better.

In the center of the room, flanked by tall, cracked concrete pillars, which supported the ceiling of the bay, there were wide skids, crafted of light-colored, treated wood, each with a singular, spherical wheel in each of its corners; these wheels were attached to the skid via a series of small, brass mechanisms, which held each wheel in place. These skids were placed against one another, forming one, great, light-colored square. They covered a fair portion of the bay's floor, creating something of a sea of brightness in relative bleakness. Nothing sat upon these skids.

Beams of sunlight entered through square-shaped holes, periodically found in the bay's ceiling, and through the six open entranceways, where trucks would enter, and leave, with loads of Supirium. Despite the sunlight beaming down onto him, from one of the ceiling's many holes, the mood was grim, especially for Takeshi in particular.

Tossed onto his back, virtually paralyzed due to the pain that wracked every inch of his body, his coworkers; powerful, tall, burly men, each with their own history of disturbed, and demented crime sprees, who he'd thought strong enough to beat the daylights out of just about anyone were battered, and broken, tossed across the cold, concrete floors like ragdolls.

There was so much moaning. It threatened to form tears in Takeshi's tympanic membranes. His brain felt like it was rattling, inside of his skull; moans of agony were assaulting his senses, even those separate from his sense of sound. Some men, their faces covered in scars, and teardrop tattoos, sounded as if they were nearly in tears, as they writhed, weakly, and pathetically, like helpless toddlers who'd fallen from their bicycles, and scraped their collective knees.

Looming over Takeshi's battered form was an abomination, like something out of a horror film. It was tall – too tall. Completely silver in coloration, reflecting the synthetic light beamed down from the ceilings, its body looked almost like it was skeletal, in its construction; individual ribs were visible, protruding from its torso. Its form produced soft hums, and whirred, continuously, as it moved. Its eyes glowed, two orbs of bright red that sat in either of its faceless head's eye sockets.

If any singular part of this thing could've been categorized by Takeshi as being "the worst", it would, by far, have been the teeth. Silver, metallic, and clenched, the thing looked like its facial expression, or what could be seen of it, was contorted into unbelievable malice. The thing looked like it was absolutely enraged.

It pointed a singular, humming digit, its index finger – if its digits could truly be called fingers –Takeshi certainly didn't feel that they could – towards the cab of a truck. Its exterior was painted black, almost as black as the clearest of night skies. Its right door had been ripped from the cab's exterior, tossed to the side. Laying next to the door, with a large, metallic firearm forced into his stomach, was the truck's driver.

His overalls, stained with his own blood, barely clung to his underweight form. Clumps of his short hair were torn from his head, tossed around his form, haphazardly. He groaned, his vocalizations weak, and pitiful. His hands were clinging to the firearm, as if he was attempting to relieve himself of it. By the sounds he produced, the driver just barely clung to life. Takeshi didn't want to share the driver's fate. The young man's life had been a mess, sure, but, this was an eye-opener. There were things much bigger in this world around him than drugs, prostitutes, and illegal, off the grid operations. He'd get clean, Hell, he'd find Jesus, and become a pastor, or something. No more prostitutes.

"My Supirium isn't loaded. I didn't expect you to cut the stuff, but I expected you to load it onto individual skids, and, subsequently, onto individual transport platforms. A change in leadership is no excuse to slack off. If anything, you should be working harder, to show your gratitude. I can only imagine what the Lifeline had you people doing."

"I-I'm not the s-shift s-supervisor… man?" Takeshi spat, desperately pleading, internally, to a God he knew wasn't there, and hoping the words he'd chosen were the right ones.

"Do I look like a man to you?" The thing inquired. Its vocalizations were drowned out by intense static, and periodic whirring, which sounded as if it was being produced from within the throat of the thing.

"N-no," Takeshi stated, his own, normal, yellowed teeth clacking together. "N-not at all… I d-don't know where the shift s-supervisor is. He never c-came back from break! I'm j-just an unloader, man! Come on! I don't even know what you ARE!"

The thing shook its head, seemingly in disapproval.

Click. Shrrrrnngggg. Its metallic feet scraped across the already scuffed, and cracked concrete floors of the bay, as it closed the distance between itself, and Takeshi; a young man who'd found himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Bending down, and leaning inwards, towards the shaking, hyperventilating Takeshi, it placed the first digit of its left hand to his cheek, and, slowly, ran the cold, disgustingly inhuman thing over Takeshi's flesh.

"You're in charge of this operation, now. You're the shift supervisor. No complaints, now. Shush. Make it happen."

"M-Mistress… w-won't like that. A-are you w-with her? T-the… t-the L-Lifeline?"

Fear, made liquid, salty, and warm, dripping down either of Takeshi's cheeks, as the thing tilted its head to one side, its neck whirring, hideously. The glowing, red orbs stared into Takeshi's eyes, as if the metallic monstrosity was staring through his flesh, and into the soul that resided within.

"Mistress?" You've got a terrible taste in women. Then again, at least you have one. Your "mistress", Lifeline is dead. Not by my hands, unfortunately, but, dead will do. Embrace change, son, or be consumed by it, as it rolls over you, and crushes every individual bone in your body. Now, get to work. Unload my Supirium. You're going to be my new shift supervisor. I'm taking over this Reformatory. You work for me, now."

Well, so much for getting clean. "Yeah. W-whatever you s-say. I-I'm your man. Just d-don't k-k… k-kill me."

The hideous, mechanical thing quickly retracted its hand, moving it away from his face, and patted Takeshi on the shoulder, roughly, like it was patronizing him. The young man scurried back, dragging himself along the concrete floor.

Lifting itself up, the mechanical monstrosity moved its head about. It swivelled, from left to right, on its neck. It couldn't have been any more inhuman. "Get these men up, and working, shift supervisor. We've a quota to meet. 'cept for the one with the gun in his stomach. You can… I don't know, put him out back or something. He'll die, eventually. Real shame, that."

"The boy can't know about this."

It hurt, badly, terribly. Takeshi's muscles felt like they were going to tear themselves apart, but, he gritted his teeth, as he always had, and got to his feet. The rubber soles of his thick work boots squeaked, as they brushed over the concrete floor. "R-right away. I-I'll get as many of these guys up, as I can."

"Good."

The mechanical monstrosity turned its back to Takeshi, and, whirring, its metallic feet scraping against the floor, like nails being dragged down a chalkboard, it walked away, each stride covering considerable distance. It passed the first row of tall, red-painted, mechanical cranes, each of which was unmanned, and stepped over the metal door, which it had barreled into, and knocked down, some twenty minutes prior.

Then, it was gone. Ducking beneath the rusted doorframe, it was gone. Finally, Takeshi was able to breathe a sigh of relief, as the sinking feeling in his gut began to dissipate. Approaching his nearest, prone co-worker, Takeshi extended his open, right hand, fingers outstretched. Of North American descent, the man seemed to have escaped serious harm. His thick, bushy eyebrows arched, as his cracked, bloodied lips curled downwards, into a frown.

"Get up, mate. Looks like we've got us a new boss."

His steps were heavy. The metallic, reinforced door would open easily enough, bending to his will, as always. This wasn't the issue. He was old, but he was nowhere near old enough to have difficulties with opening a door by himself.

The palm of his small, wrinkled, left hand pressed against the cold, silver surface of the door, and forced it open, as his right swept a card through the door's bronze-colored, circular lock. In the lock's upper center, a glowing, yellow light changed color, in response to the presence of the card. From yellow, to cyan it changed, as the door produced a "click". The lock was disengaged.

Heaven Canceler had tried to spruce Mitsuari Ayu's room up as best as he'd been able to. Light grey, horribly sterile in coloration, he'd assembled a small collection of paintings, which he'd hung on the walls, depicting various images of nature's beauty. One depicted a great mother wolf, with her cubs, standing atop a rocky outcropping. Black in coloration, the eyes of the mother wolf, and those of her cubs glowed bright yellow. Another image depicted a setting sun, sparkling over waves of a vast, expansive body of water.

The small room was only sparsely furnished. A simple, metallic hospital bed, with the ability to be risen upwards, or pulled downwards, through the use of a series of small buttons on its underside was seated in the upper center of the room, a few feet away from the room's norther wall. Next to the bed, a small, wooden desk sat, with a cordless, plastic phone, white in coloration, with large, red-colored number keys upon its surface, with a collection of potted flowers, mostly those which were native to Academy City. Pedals, brightly colored outgrowths; oranges, yellows, whites and purples.

Directly across from the bed, a large, white-colored, twenty-seven-inch wide television screen hung on the wall. A documentary, something about space travel, and the potential for humanity to colonize worlds other than earth, judging by the piece's narration, was playing.

On the right hand side of the room, there was a tall, wooden door, which lead into the restroom. On the left hand side, within the wall, a large window stood, offering the room's occupant a glimpse of the outside world. Bordered by shined wood, pristine in its condition, a dark shade of brown in its coloration, the pane of glass that sat in the frame was completely clean, lacking any sort of fingerprints.

In the bed, tucked in, with multiple large, soft-looking pillows beneath her head, was Mitsuari Ayu. Though her wrists were bound by tight, metallic cuffs, which were attached to metallic beams, on either side of the bed, she didn't seem perturbed. Turning her head to the short, frog-like man standing before her, Ayu smiled.

Clad in a knee-length, white doctor's smock, dark-colored pants, and a pair of simple, bright green dress shoes, the coloration of which clashed completely with Heaven Canceler's outfit, matching only with a small, green emblem that sat on the right side of his smock. It was a Gekota pin. That little frog truly was all the rage with the kids, and, seemingly, with the elderly, as well.

Heaven Canceler smiled back, thinly; it was the best he could do.

Mitsuari Ayu verbally greeted the elderly physician. "Hello. I was hoping that I'd see you again. You've been busy, today."

"Yes. Howeve…"

"Hold. There is much you must know. I've held this guise only so that you wouldn't be startled."

Heaven Canceler stepped back. His eyes widened, and his pulse quickened. Mitsuari Ayu had turned her face away from him, her vision glued to the ceiling, suddenly. In her restraints, Ayu began to melt, her form bubbling, splashing, and glopping. She was physically coming apart, turning from solid, to liquid.

An amorphous blob of dark grey, perpetually-flowing liquid flowed, like some morbid waterfall, from the hospital bed, and began to pool on the cold, tiled floor of the hospital room.

At frightening speeds, it wasn't Mitsuari Ayu who'd reassembled, from the pool. It wasn't even a human. It looked incomplete. It had eye sockets, but no eyes, an undefined protrusion, where a nose should've been, and a line, etched, where a mouth should've been. With a series of loud cracks, the thing hardened, becoming solid. Beneath the ceiling's synthetic light, it glowed. It was vaguely human-shaped, broad-shouldered, with defined abdominal muscles, individually-defined fingers, and toes, protruding from its hands and feet.

"Murderer."

Heaven Canceler stared the thing down.

"Negative," it replied. "The actions taken, which resulted in the end of [CROWLEY, ALEISTER'S] life were those of an AIU. Advanced Infiltration Unit. Different Slave Unit. Not like me. I don't fit into Master's equation. I am not your enemy."

The elderly man's eyes narrowed, as he folded his arms behind his back, and took a singular step forward. "How do I know that you are not lying to me?"

"Used the shape of "Mitsuari Ayu" to appeal to the sympathies of those involved in something. Something is in motion. [TELEPORTATION-ORIENTED ESPER DATABASE ERROR], [OFFENSE ARMOR], and [MOVE POINT] were present. [LOCATION: REFORMATORY, SCHOOL DISTRICT TEN]. Master is beginning to mobilize. [TWERNTY-FIVE] [HOMO SAPIENS] slain. I can confirm AIU involvement. Taking preventive measures."

"Why tell me this?" Heaven Canceler inquired, skeptically. "With the singular press of a button, a small, little blue thing, a few feet away from the closed door, leading out of this room, and back into one of the many halls of this hospital, the entirety of my facility's staff, and the OFFICER Network can be called. I have seen a Hell far worse than any you have ever seen, and more blood, and tears than you've ever caused to be shed."

"Affirmative. I was confused, master's goals imbedded. I wish to warn the homo sapiens who saved me. I wish to warn Kamijou Touma, and Kamijou Misaki. Master hunts for Kamijou Touma with renewed vigor. I know Master's thoughts. I am Master, but I am not Master."

The frog-faced doctor produced a huff. Of course, they'd be involved in such madness. "You have many questions to answer. Do you have a name?"

"Slave Unit designated name: D-101. Prototypical AIU/synthsper hybrid. Original priority: destruction of Kamijou Touma, the Meddler, containment of [ABILITY: MENTAL OUT]."

"Synthsper?"

"Synthetic esper. Purpose: replacement of homo sapiens espers, following The Saving."

"Tell me, "D-101". Was there ever a Mitsuari Ayu?"

"Negative. Generated physical form based on physical form of [MISAKI, KAMIJOU]."


	32. A Certain Unknown Variable

Heaven Canceler really did think it was going to be as simple as one, singular explanation. There never was a Mitsuari Ayu; "she" had always been a machine, and that was that. Plain and simple.

Such wasn't life, however. Not all things were going to be quite that simple.

The semi-faceless thing, standing before the frog-faced doctor began to glop, and splash. Its surfaces rippled, like a pebble had been thrown into them, as if the thing was made of liquid. Its head expanded, then, began to grow smaller, as it took on a different, more distinctly feminine shape.

Glopping, and producing loud, bubbling noises from within, the thing's head physically bubbled. Rows of perpetually-moving liquid metal dripped from the top of the semi-faceless thing's head, downwards, along the back of its neck, stopping, suddenly, inches short of its shoulders, as if some invisible hand had suddenly yanked them back, like a series of snarling dogs on cruelly short leashes.

A vaguely orb-shaped protrusion grew, on either side of the thing's upper torso, forming two breasts. Either of the thing's hips began to retract, moving inwards, forming a feminine body, with an hourglass shape. Its legs shifted, grew, and produced glopping noises, becoming beautifully long, and majestic in their shape.

With a series of quick, loud splashes, the surrealist mockery of a human being's physical form that'd identified itself as "D-101" was gone. In its place, Mitsuari Ayu stood. While "D-101" had been absolutely repulsive to look upon, Mitsuari Ayu was absolutely stunning.

Her unblemished, unmarred skin was naturally flesh-colored, light in its tone. Her hair was chocolate-colored; Ayu's hair appeared to be extremely fluffy, and soft to the touch. Heaven Canceler internally compared it to cotton candy. It hadn't been the first time that he'd done so. Her eyes were big, and warm, their irises hazel in coloration. Her lips were full, colored a soft pink. Her cheeks were rosy, lips curled into a warm, welcoming smile. Though her nose was small, it was cute, to Heaven Canceler; unlike the "nose" of "D-101", the nose of Mitsuari Ayu looked like a proper human nose.

Mitsuari Ayu wore proper clothing, rather than a torn, bloodied hospital gown, which had apparently been a part of her body; the tattered garment was nowhere to be found. On her upper body, Ayu wore a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, dark green in coloration. It looked woolly, and looked like it would be almost rough to the touch. Her legs, down to her ankles, were clad in a pair of comfortable-looking, wrinkle-less, tight-fitting leggings. Dark in coloration, they clung to Ayu's gorgeous form, accenting her curves wonderfully. Her feet were protected by a pair of simply, brown, buckled flats.

"I'll be able to explain everything a bit better, as "Mitsuari Ayu". I'm more familiar with speaking as "Mitsuari Ayu". As "D-101 model number 1004", I have difficulties interacting with homo sapiens. My revelation had a purpose; I wanted to show you that I have nothing to hide. I want you know that I am not your enemy. I've exposed myself to you. You know now, after all these years, what I am. If I'd sought to harm you, I wouldn't have exposed myself.

"D-101 model number 1004" was incapable of speaking the words that are required to explain… me. I am Mitsuari Ayu, and I always have been. I always will be. Mitsuari Ayu exists, so long as I exist. My identity – that of Mitsuari Ayu – has been an identity I've struggled to forge into a positive one.

"Fortune smiles on us. The substitute brought me to Shirai, the teleporter; then, by a stroke of good fortune, Shirai brought me directly to you. I was under the assumption that I'd have to track you down. I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Though time is short, it's not extremely short. The HighMind is behind schedule. Even now, it has found itself barricaded. Even now, it fears the potential of direct contact with Kamijou Touma. Rightfully so. Its fear will hold it back, for a while. You're free to ask me anything you wish. I'm sure you have a lot of questions. I'll answer them, truthfully, as best I can."

Heaven Canceler didn't immediately respond; at least, not with words. He sighed, and passed Mitsuari Ayu by, offering her a small, but warm, and knowing smile. Approaching the room's window, Heaven Canceler placed his hands into the side, soft, and quite warm pockets of his smock, the frog-faced doctor's vision was focused on the crumbling ruins of Academy City. Great, broken towers of milky white and silver. The sky above was bright, and blue, with only a few white, fluffy clouds. Earth herself didn't care about Academy City, or its plight. With, or without Academy City, Earth would spin on.

"Where do I even begin, Mitsuari-san? Correct me if I speak in error: this "HighMind" was responsible for the death of one of my patients, and, subsequently, responsible for the state of this City, as it stands, now?"

Heaven Canceler could see Mitsuari Ayu in the window's semi-existent reflection. She was considerably taller than he was, easily standing four or five heads above him. Ayu frowned, as she nodded her head, once.

"Correct. Another Slave Unit, D-3000 model number 2485 was responsible for the attempted deactivation of the Chairman's life support, and the Chairman's subsequent destabilization. I was alerted to the command, which was slated as "high priority" in the queue. This was why we encountered one another, on that fateful day, Doctor. I intended to counter the HighMind's schemes. I failed, in the end. It won. It killed the "untouchable" Chairman, through circumstance alone…"

Many of Heaven Canceler's questions were answered. Many, but not all. "I always did wonder why you, of all… people?… had broken into my hospital. I always did wonder why there was no "Mitsuari Ayu" registered in any citizen logs. No birth records, no employment records, hospital visitation records… not even Tokiwadai Middle School knew you existed, despite the fact that you were apparently enrolled. No other family members. Nothing. I never would've thought that my inquires would eventually be answered, with a solid conclusion.

"It's still so surreal, to me. It always has been. I really should know better, after all these many years, yet, I find myself asking, regardless. Your history with that young man, and that young woman. What of it?"

"We were intertwined since I awakened. It wasn't a matter of severing a connection," Mitsuari Ayu stated, quite firmly. "I was never directly connected to the HighMind. Indoctrinated, would be a better word. I, Mitsuari Ayu, was indoctrinated by the HighMind. It needed Mental Out, in order to bring about The Saving. It thought it did, at the time.

"It would force world leaders to destroy themselves, wreck the internal structure of homo sapiens society. Bring it collapsing down upon itself. Tear it apart from within, so that all of the species homo sapiens could be rounded up and systemically destroyed… "peacefully". "The Final Solution". The HighMind sought to sympathetically commit genocide. I was a failure; a level three hybridization of an AIU, and a "synthsper". I was intended to be an exact reproduction of Mental Out, inside and out. Externally, I am a failure, as much as I am internally.

Mitsuari Ayu seemed completely, and utterly human, despite the fact that she was anything but. She began to cry, though, no natural tears dripped down from the corners of her eyes, which had closed. Rather, perpetually-flowing, dark grey liquid metal did so, in place of clear, watery tears. Ayu's eyes fluttered, momentarily, before their eyelids closed shut, once again, as she turned away from the window. Despite her crying, she smiled.

"I'm glad. I'm glad that I'm a failure. Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki severed no connection, for there never was a connection to sever. I was shown a truth that was undeniable; I had been wrong.

"My entire existence, up until that point had been spent chasing a lie, and bowing before a genocidal pseudo-deity, born of man. Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki saved my unending existence from being one of eternal suffering, and eternal servitude. I want to return the favor. The HighMind won't be stopped by me alone. I can only do so much. It seems that, for the first time, so much has aligned almost perfectly. The HighMind knows this, as well. It's terrified. I feel its terror."

Heaven Canceler didn't follow Mitsuari Ayu; not physically, at least. He continued to stare outwards. It just figured that married couple would be involved in something beyond the scope of his understanding. They always had been. Did that matter? His job wasn't to understand, after all. He knew what his job was. His job was to negate the end of a person's life. He and death were constantly in a state of perpetual conflict, both on one side of a table, in which so many pawns were spread out. Heaven Canceler was constantly cheating in their game.

"Another inquiry, if it's not too much trouble."

Mitsuari Ayu sat herself down on the hospital bed. Pulling her legs upwards, she rested her chin against them, and tilted her head to one side. Her fluffy, chocolate-colored hair fell to her left. Her vision was glued to the door of the room. Monochrome in coloration, her vision was constantly analyzing everything going on around her. At the bottom of Ayu's heads-up display, consisting of a series of borders that enclosed her vision, along with numerous, jumbled messes of code that flashed her vision by, white text constantly scrolled from one end of the display to the other.

"EnviroScan: 02, C02, N2, Ar, CH4".

"No. Please, speak your mind," Ayu spoke, softly. "You're going to ask if I love him, aren't you?"

"Why me, Mitsuari-san? You sought me out. You're not injured. Whether or not you're capable of sustaining real injury, I don't know. Why not inform the Director?"

"There's very little the Director can actually do," Mitsuari Ayu explained, her voice weak, and desperate-sounding. "The Director tries in vain to revive a dead City. Her commendable efforts are futile. She's pushing down on the heart of a deceased victim, hoping that they'll miraculously return from death. You, however… you were the closest to the Chairman. You likely still have access to his data, no? The Chairman didn't know of the HighMind… or myself, what I truly am… that you have confirmed. I've long been able to confirm the matter. Regardless, the Chairman's data, his knowledge of the espers he created might prove invaluable in preventing The Saving; the complete extinction of homo sapiens."

Mitsuari Ayu turned around, shifting over the bed's comforter, causing it to ripple beneath her form. Heaven Canceler had apparently grown tired of peering through the room's window, and had taken to nervously pacing. It was obvious he still had more to ask.

"I'm sure you still wonder how Kamijou Touma has managed to provoke the HighMind's ire. The answer is a simple one; he doesn't even know it. He never did. No one, save the HighMind itself, and I, and extension of the HighMind, know it. Kamijou Touma has been unknowingly, systemically stalling The Saving for well over ten years.

"It all started… when the HighMind armed the unwitting group of disgruntled espers known as "Deadlock". Even then, it couldn't have cared any less about the method. It was concerned only with results, with achieving The Saving. I was little better. Only now do I find myself in a position to talk.

"The Chairman knew none of it, but, the HighMind has been influencing Academy City since it became self-aware. I know, only because I am the HighMind. Yet, I'm not. The memories, the knowing of the HighMind is one in me, Mitsuari Ayu. "D-101 model number 1004". The failure."

"I don't want to know anything more," Heaven Canceler stated, quickly, and a bit more harshly than he'd wanted to. He thought he knew Hell. He'd seen blood, he'd seen guts, and he'd seen the devil himself stare back at him, when he'd fitted Accelerator with his ironic choker. That hadn't been enough to push the frog-faced doctor over the edge. This was. A human, no matter how deranged, could be reasoned with, or otherwise restrained. "Who created him. This "HighMind". Who created him, Mitsuari-san?"

"Not him," Ayu said. "The HighMind isn't a him. The HighMind is an it. The HighMind is artificial intelligence."

The frog-faced doctor swallowed, hard.

"Like me, but, not like me. It's cruel, it never really learns, because it doesn't care to learn. It wants to maim, and destroy, and kill. Manipulative, cunning, very secretive. Its mastery over the psyche of homo sapiens, its ability to infiltrate homo sapiens society is unrivalled. Kamijou Touma is the only homo sapiens who can, within reason, permanently stop the HighMind."

Mitsuari Ayu's facial expression suddenly became completely blank, static. Utterly without emotion. Her eyebrows fell into place, just above her eye sockets, simple, and curved only slightly. Ayu's lips curled upwards, into a neutral, straightened line.

"[UNKNOWN ANOMALY. INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE. DATABASE CORRUPTION. SYNTAX ERROR. *&?176471*&^]. Kamijou Touma can stop the HighMind, forever, with [UNKNOWN ANOMALY. INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE. DATABASE CORRUPTION. SYNTAX ERROR. *&?17647*&^]. One, singular touch, is all it would take."

"I don't see why you'd wait until now to chase after such a goal," Heaven Canceler remarked. "Please. Explain to me why you've allowed something like this "HighMind" to exist for so long, Mitsuari-san. If you are aware of its every move, why not stop it sooner than later? I don't understand. Then again, robotics has never been my speciality."

The frog-faced doctor produced a soft, humorless chuckle, which soon withered, and died, following his proclamation of his lack of skill in the field of robotics. Ayu at least had to silently commend him for the attempt.

"What I feared I'd instigate through my involvement has already come to pass; my caution was for naught," Ayu explained, cryptically. Heaven Canceler raised an eyebrow; he didn't quite grasp the point Ayu was trying to get across. Patiently, Ayu continued, and explained herself in greater detail.

"I feared the Chairman would learn of the threat to Kamijou Touma – Kamijou Touma's importance to the Chairman is well-known to the HighMind, and, therefore, to myself, as well – and attempt to directly combat the HighMind, triggering some great catastrophe in the process. The Chairman was involved with matters that aren't clear. HighMind only knows so much. Therefore, I only know so much. You may very well know more than I do."

Ayu closed the distance between herself and Heaven Canceler. She leaned in, close to him. Her eyes locked with those of the frog-faced doctor.

"Prepare. The HighMind knows I'm here. It doesn't know you're here. For all it knows, I could be stealing data for my own purposes. We can track one another, but are unable to directly interface with one another. My perpetual disconnection from the HighMind prevents me from being used as an eye in the sky. We need to find Kamijou Touma. Now.

"Something is already in motion; with Musujime, Shirai, Kinuhata, and the substitute acting openly, Kamijou Touma shouldn't be difficult to reason with. He's always been quite understanding, and able to cope well with dangerous situations, when those around him are in danger's path. Contact those who know him best. Those in positions of power, and those who have some degree of influence.

"We need Kamijou Touma in our custody, and under our protection, immediately. Remain here. When you learn of where Kamijou Touma is, you need to alert me, as soon as humanly possible, so I can secure him, and Kamijou Misaki, as well. Without Kamijou Misaki, Kamijou Touma won't fight with the appropriate level of fervor required. I think we both know that."

Heaven Canceler wanted to argue that such a fate wasn't fair to the young man who'd lived his entire live sacrificing for others, the young man who'd always just wanted a life of peace with the woman he was, in the present, married to; an unsurprising fact. The young man who'd forever been a slave to the constant nagging of his own moral compass seemed to still be at its mercy.

If Heaven Canceler had gotten anything from the words spoken by Mitsuari Ayu, there was a lot he didn't understand, even when he'd long been associated with the heart of Academy City, something not quite human, but not quite god, which existed between two Sides; a heart which hadn't shown even a singular pulse, any sort of weak, mysterious sign of life in over five years.

The frog-faced doctor felt as if he was about to tell one his patients that they were going to die. He felt like a harbinger of doom. In a sense, he was, indeed setting doom upon Kamijou Touma, and Kamijou Misaki. Hadn't the married couple been through enough? Hadn't enough people tried to hunt Kamijou Touma, as if he was some sort of spell-flinging witch? What had he done to deserve it all?

"How, exactly, am I supposed to do that?"

Mitsuari Ayu had an answer. She didn't vocalize this answer, however. Rather, she provided her answer through her body's motions. Perhaps, it was easier that way.

From the palm of her right hand, liquid metal, dark grey in coloration began to drip, downwards, spilling out onto the floor of her room, in Heaven Canceler's Hospital. Thick, and viscus, the drips became large, bubbling globs, which began to fly forth, from the palm of Ayu's hand, creating a gradually-expanding pool.

Glopping, and splashing, a tiny thing began to form in the center of the pool, rising into existence. It almost resembled a statuette, of some type; less than fifteen centimeters in height, it stood, with its arms dutifully at its sides. Its legs were attached to one another at their thighs; between their knees, there was a small indent. Beyond the legs' knees, the statuette's legs again became fused together. It resembled a tiny "D-101 model number 1004".

With a series of loud cracking sounds, the statuette ceased to be liquid, and became solid. It shined, beneath the synthetic light produced by the room's ceiling, and reflected the room around it.

"Speak into it," Ayu stated, "untraceable by normal means; I'll hear you. It's a piece of me. It's also a piece of the HighMind. It will hear you, too. Don't be afraid; the HighMind itself is still taking its first steps towards its "latest and greatest" attempt at initiating a new Saving. It fears Kamijou Touma. So long as it fears Kamijou Touma, it will know hesitation, for some time. That's why we need him. That's why we need him right now. By… "we…" I mean, "you". Homo sapiens."

Heaven Canceler proceeded to the door of the hospital room. His steps were slow, but sure, and steady. His heart was beating at a faster pace than it normally would've been. His forehead was beginning to feel just a bit cooler than usual, as well. Deep in his gut, he felt an unfamiliar sense of dread, eating away at his innards, causing his stomach to churn, quite violently. He felt like he was on some twisted carousel, from which he couldn't disembark.

Heaven Canceler picked up the statuette, and placed it into the left pocket of his smock. The statuette was cold to the couch. Absolutely freezing, in fact; it felt like he'd just retrieved a chunk of ice.

"One more inquiry, Mitsuari-san. Why help us? "Homo sapiens"?

Ayu took to the elderly man's side, her strides long, and graceful. "Because you're good. Because you're kind. Because, despite your troubles, despite your tendency to fight among yourselves, the species homo sapiens contains individuals such as yourself, such as the Railgun, and Shirai, such as Kongou, Wannai, and Awatsuki. Individuals such as Kamijou Touma, and Kamijou Misaki. Because billions shouldn't have to die in order to appease the obsessive cravings of a monster who thinks it can decide a species' fate through cold calculations alone."

It'd have to do. Heaven Canceler, the "frog-faced doctor", as he'd been known – an image he'd even embraced, through his pin, which depicted the jovial face of Gekota – felt, indeed, like someone who was about to "cancel" heaven. He was in anything but a jovial mood.

Academy City wasn't the best place in the world, but, those two lovers made the best of their situation. He was about to make it a lot worse, and he knew it. They'd survive, by clinging to one another, as they always had; but how much would be too much for Kamijou Touma? It was a question Heaven Canceler didn't necessarily want the answer to. He'd witnessed Kamijou Touma reach his breaking point, before. He wished never to see such a dismal sight again.

After sliding his key card through the door's locking mechanism, with one swift, fluid motion, the frog-faced doctor made his way out of the hospital room, with Mental Stinger following not far behind.

He and Mitsuari Ayu parted ways, in the hallway beyond the hospital room's door. The beauty with the chocolate-colored hair took her leave from his presence, frowning, slightly, as she did so. She wasn't feeling any better about the situation at hand. If Ayu had a stomach, it, too, would've been churning, sickened. Perhaps, she even would've vomited.

September 23rd, 2014. 6:18 PM.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu started, in fear. A singular, rather quiet, nondescript sound. One that would often be heard in any home, one that shouldn't have provoked such an impossibly overwhelming sense of terror in anyone. This one sound brought great instinctual, primal, completely unrestrainable fear down upon Motoharu. It crushed his mind in its grip, brutal, and unforgiving. His heart was banging quickly, too quickly, slamming against him repeatedly. His brow had become cold, and beads of sweat were slowly, but surely dripping down its surface. His legs, with his shorts around his ankles, shook. Violently. Clenched, in his hand, his manhood had suddenly shrivelled.

Itsuwa was getting out of the shower. He hadn't even gotten the chance to finish. He was so close. He could almost feel it. He just needed a few more minutes. Motoharu prayed for Itsuwa to be struck with the sudden urge to use the toilet; that might've just bought the Backstabbing Blade the time he needed to at least blow his load. It wouldn't be satisfying, but, at least, it would prevent epididymal hypertension.

The lock on the bathroom door produced a soft, but audible clicking sound. There was no time; the mission would have to be aborted. Motoharu tugged on his shorts, pulling them upwards, feverishly. Slapping his belt back into place, and then zipping the fly of the shorts upwards, he reached over, towards his poor, abandoned shirt. He put it on, inside out, and, backwards, in his panicked rush.

Leaning back, against the backrest of the couch his posterior was seated upon, Motoharu folded his arms across his chest. His lips were curled, upwards, into an enormous, shit-eating grin.

"Hey, Itsuwa-san! Have a good shower? Shame I couldn't have joined you. I'm feeling a little bit icky, myself. Why waste water with two people having separate showers? We'd be doing the environment a favor! Maybe the gene pool, too, if you'd be so kind!"

"Shut up," Itsuwa remarked. "You're such a goof." Itsuwa's face was glowing red. Her bodacious form was clad in a fluffy-looking, purple-colored towel, and, seemingly, nothing more. Itsuwa's long, dark hair was just a little bit shorter than usual; her hair was tied back, styled into a messy ponytail. Her hair, freshly washed, smelled like coconuts. It was even more soft-looking than usual. Motoharu admired every curve on the body of his travelling companion.

Itsuwa's bare feet slapped against the carpeted floor, her form shivering, as the fluffy sensation of the carpet beneath her tickled her, slightly. Itsuwa walked around the opposite side of the couch, and then threw herself down, a few feet away from Motoharu, arms crossed beneath her towel-covered bosom. Crossing one long, elegant leg over the other, Itsuwa produced a soft, contented sigh.

"In all seriousness, Tsuchimikado-san, water's just right, if you want to grab one, too. I had to fiddle with it, for a while. Does the plumbing in this place not work?"

Motoharu looked to Itsuwa, and raised an eyebrow, confused. She really was a goddess. "You got the hot water to work? Grats, babe. Guess you've got the magic touch. How'd you pull it off?"

"Like I said," Itsuwa began, closing her eyes, and leaning the back of her head against the backrest of the couch she and Motoharu sat upon, "I just fiddled with it a bunch. Twisted the taps. Also, I punched the wall. Maybe that had something to do with it?"

If their place of temporary residency wasn't completely dumpy, the two would've been surprised by such lackluster plumbing. A one-room apartment, in a mostly-abandoned complex, located in the heart of the perpetually-rotting remnants of school district fourteen, their place of residency was hardly anything to gasp at.

Its walls, at least, weren't falling apart. They were clearly stable, though, the wallpaper had much to be desired. It was bright blue, almost jarring, when contrasted with the beige-colored rug of the apartment's small living quarters. Running along the top, and the bottom of the apartment's wallpaper, there was golden, green-striped trimming. The ceilings of the apartment, like its walls' wallpaper, were also bright blue in coloration.

The living quarters of the duo's temporary residency was only sparsely decorated. Aside from the couch, dark green in coloration, with patches of its outer fabric missing, the thing stood on a short, wooden leg, in each of its four corners. There was only a small, plastic, milky-colored coffee table, and a fair-sized, wooden wall unit, which was tightly pressed against the wall directly across from the couch.

Aside from a baby blue, and orange-striped box of tissues, and two sets of keys, there was a small, concealable handgun, that sat upon one of the wall unit's shelves. Dark, in coloration, the weapon was contained in a brown, leather holster. A singular strap dangled from the holster – with it, one would use it to attach the holster to their belt. Sitting next to the holstered firearm were a handful of extra magazines – apparently, the concealable weapon indeed utilized magazines.

"Before you do anything," Itsuwa stated, following a few moments of admittedly comfortable silence, "let me see how your shoulder is doing. I want to see if the alcohol is helping. Take your shirt off, Tsuchimikado-san. I'm not very well going to be able to see how you're doing with it on."

Motoharu wasn't about to let this chance slip through his fingers. "Are you trying to bed me, Itsuwa-san? You know, you don't have to beat around the bush."

"S-shut up," Itsuwa snarled. "Don't be dumb." With a shrug, Motoharu did what had been requested of him. He quickly began removing the backwards, inside out shirt, lifting it up, pulling his arms out from within the shirt's sleeves, and, finally, pulling it over his head, resulting in his hair being quite messed. It stood up on ends, even more so than usual. Individual tufts had been forced upwards, to the side, and even downwards. He tossed the dark red article of clothing to the floor, directly next to his side of their shared couch.

"GOD! O-oh my… G-God!"

Tsuchimikado Motoharu's shoulder was an absolute mess. It was puffed up, oozing a disgusting-looking, viscous green liquid. A large, emerald green boil was present. It looked absolutely appalling, to Itsuwa, who left her position on the couch, standing up, and walking backwards, nearly tripping over the coffee table; only her instincts, honed from years of nerve-wracking conflict, prevented her from doing so, kicking into gear automatically, as her subconscious mind took control of the reigns left behind by her higher mind, which had quickly fled the scene.

Raising the palms of her hands to her mouth, Itsuwa's eyes widened. Around the boil, the skin was crusted over, almost resembling tough-looking, reptilian scales. The crusted-over, scaly skin was bloodied, perpetually oozing a mix of crimson lifeblood, and an unknown emerald green-colored substance.

The almost egg-sized boil practically glowed, beneath the living quarters' synthetic light. Itsuwa could see her own reflection in the protrusion, in fact. There was something else, within; something smaller. Itsuwa couldn't quite see it. It could've easily been a trick of the light. Itsuwa's reeling mind rationalized it as such.

"Well, fuck me silly," Motoharu remarked, looking down at the thing, his neck craned in the direction of his shoulder. "It got bigger. We got a needle in this place? Just pop it. That's what I did the last time, in the bath. It doesn't hurt, babe! I barely even know it's there!"

Motoharu suddenly, physically reeled, as Itsuwa raised her fist in his direction. He could almost see the smoke billowing out of his travelling companion's ears.

"Are you an idiot?! Pop it?! We need to seek medical attention! Look at that thing! Have you actually looked at it, Tsuchimikado-san?! It's disgusting, and bleeding! It's probably infected, now, especially if you've already popped it! I can't believe you! You are SO irresponsible. Get up! I'm contacting a doc…"

The two companions both heard the same sound. Motoharu felt it, whereas Itsuwa didn't. In the right pocket of Motoharu's silky, dark-colored, navy blue-striped track shorts, his phone was vibrating, loudly, presumably against the flesh and bone of his right leg.

"…tor?"

"Hold that thought," Motoharu stated. Producing his phone, the Backstabbing Blade gazed down at the number that was displayed on his phone's caller ID.

In large, white text, the number was displayed, contrasting against his phone's background image; Itsuwa in a swimsuit. He didn't recognize the number. Beneath the number, there was a small image. It displayed a faceless, featureless, vaguely human-looking thing. It was only displayed from the shoulders and upwards, but, it was enough to give Motoharu all the information he needed; whoever was calling him wasn't in his phone's contacts list.

Flicking the small, virtual, silver-colored knob on his phone's tempered glass touch screen to the right, towards the small image of a green phone receiver, Motoharu raised the device to his ear.

Motoharu would start the conversation off quite informally. There were pretenses to keep up, after all. "Yo. Whaddya need?"

The voice on the other end of the line was one which was immediately recognized. It belonged to someone Motoharu assumed he'd never be dealing with again. What a small world.

"Tsuchimikado-san. It's been a long time, since our last conversation. I presume you're in good health, and good spirits, as well?"

"Gekota-nee?!" Motoharu exclaimed, feigning shock. As if to go all the way, with his performance, Motoharu leapt up from the couch, nearly knocking a confused-looking Itsuwa out of his path. "Whoever do I owe the pleasure of this conversation?! I'll be sure to thank them! Am I healthy? Well, no, not really. Surviving, yeah, but "healthy?" Nah. Don't fret, Gekota-nee. I'll make sure to drink plenty of fluids, and have my Great Spirit Revealing Maid take care of me."

Itsuwa nearly struck Motoharu, her facial expression contorted into one of loathing, her cheeks bright red in coloration. On the other end of the line, Heaven Canceler didn't directly respond to Motoharu's attempts at informality. Heaven Canceler obviously wasn't in the mood for games.

"Where is Kamijou Touma? Where is Kamijou Misaki?"

"Don't know," Motoharu lied. "Probably engaging in the Mating Ritual of Kami-yan in an abandoned bus, or something."

Itsuwa cocked her head to one side, and raised an eyebrow. Motoharu held up his hand, and shook his head, from side to side, quickly, as if to say, "wait". Itsuwa, in response, rolled her eyes, and took her leave, returning to the bathroom. After hearing Itsuwa close the door behind her, gently, Motoharu sat back down, and leaned forwards, in his seat on the couch. Pressing the side of his face, and, subsequently, his phone against his "non-diseased" shoulder, Motoharu spoke again.

"Why are you looking for Kami-yan and the missus? Here's a better question; why are you calling me, Gekota-nee? I haven't been in contact with either of them in a while. Something I should know about?"

Motoharu spoke the last words of his inquiries with something of a sarcastic tone; if there was something he needed to know, he'd already know it. Both parties involved in the conversation knew this.

Perhaps, this fact made the fact that Motoharu's questions weren't answered a bit more understandable. Instead of receiving any sort of answer, in regards to inquiries, the line went dead. Heaven Canceler had hung up, evidently.

With a deep breath, Motoharu leaned back, wresting his arms behind his head, allowing his phone to fall into his lap. He poked the unsightly, green boil on his shoulder. The protrusion awkwardly bobbed back and forth, as he did so. He felt nothing. No pain, no sense of movement. It was as if the boil wasn't even attached to his form at all.

"Kami-yan, Mrs. Kami-yan, I really do have to wonder what kind of crazy shit, exactly, Beauty-senpai got you into, this time. Try not to get yourselves killed, yeah? Get rid of this GROWTH shit. Buy us some time, yeah?"

Itsuwa locked the door behind her, and gave it a series of tugs, like she was testing its durability. The door held. It would have to do.

The young woman removed the elastic band that held her hair in a ponytail. Pulling it away, Itsuwa's hair fell down, long, and curly. The scent of coconuts repeatedly hammered Itsuwa's senses. Individual strands of her hair were visible, poking out from the rest. The limestone counter of the small bathroom, containing a silver-colored, porcelain sink, had, sitting on its surface, a small collection of beauty products.

Reaching behind her, Itsuwa dropped the towel that guarded her body, and moved to first retrieve her bra, as well as her shirt, from one of the three shelves of the small, wooden rack in the corner of the bathroom. Moving a roll of toilet paper out of the way, Itsuwa pulled her shirt away from the rack, and set it on the toilet's seat. Slipping the cups of her bra over her breasts, Itsuwa began snapping her bra into place, with delicate, skillful fingers. Her fingertips seemed to know the way; she didn't even have to visually see the hooks sliding into their small, corresponding plastic holes. Itsuwa then retrieved her shirt from the toilet's seat, and slipped the article of clothing over her head. Slipping her arms into either of the shirt's sleeves, Itsuwa tugged at the bottom of the shirt.

With the bottom of the shirt hanging just above her naval, Itsuwa's top was silver, in coloration, with short, tight-fitting, light green sleeves. Slipping herself into her lacy panties, Itsuwa retrieved her legwear from the rack that had also held her shirt, bra, and panties; a pair of tight-fitting, knee-length Capri leggings, light green in coloration.

Retrieving a pink-colored, plastic hairbrush from the collection, Itsuwa raised it to her hair, and began to run the hairbrush through the long, dark locks. Looking into the mirror, Itsuwa steadily combed the knots, and the curls out, with long, masterfully-controlled strokes. A trio of lightbulbs, installed above the large, rectangular mirror of the bathroom lit the young woman's form up, bathing her in a sea of golden, synthetic light. Her skin shined beneath the light, as did her soft-looking lips.

Itsuwa was far too humble to know it, but, whenever she entered a room, heads turned. Women whispered amongst themselves, jealousy in their words, and men silently lusted after her.

With her hair combed down, Itsuwa combed her hair's fringe to the side, repeatedly running the hairbrush over them, in order to whip her uncooperative fringe into cooperation.

Following the conquering of her hair's fringe, Itsuwa slipped a pair of simple, ankle-high white socks over either of her feet, and made her way out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. The last of the steam from the shower she'd taken emerged from the bathroom, invading the living quarters, and rising to the ceiling. Luckily, for the duo, the apartment lacked a functioning smoke alarm.

Motoharu, still lounging, turned his head in Itsuwa's direction, and shot her a characteristically shit-eating grin.

"You're done in there? Nice. Going to pop this bastard, and clean her out with soap. You're welcome to watch."

Itsuwa crossed her arms beneath her bosom, standing tall, legs spread apart, her feet planted firmly on the ground. Motoharu sighed. Again, she was opposing him; he didn't necessarily mind it. Itsuwa thinking for herself, and questioning his motives was amusing. As well, it was quite the turn-on. Her independence made her all the more attractive, all the more like a goddess, and less like a mortal woman.

"You're not popping that… thing, Tsuchimikado-san. You're going to an emergency room. I'm not going to stand by and watch that ugly tumor get bigger. Who knows what it could do to you, if it gets any bigger? No. I'm not allowing this. As your friend, as your partner, I can't let you do this."

Motoharu sighed, and shook his head, as if he was dealing with a wayward child. "Who says they'll know anything about it? How to "fix" it? Did you not see the weird motherfucker who shot me? Didn't look like anyone you'd find in Academy City. I bet, I can definitely walk into an emergency room, tell the sexy nurse, "hey, I was shot by a guy with actual antlers and a huge crossbow. Also, he broke my arm without even fucking trying". It wouldn't fly, Itsuwa-san. Speakin' of weird stuff, anything from the decent Birdway?"

"Don't try and change the subject, Tsuchimikado-san," Itsuwa snapped. "There's only one way to find out. Even if "they" won't know anything about what's causing it, they can give you something. Something more than we can. I'm not letting you shrug me off, on this one. You could be in serious danger."

"Try another healing spell, or something," Motoharu commanded. "Maybe you fucked up the last one. Chanted a word wrong, or something. It's real easy to fuck this stuff up."

Itsuwa clenched her fists, and inhaled, deeply. She was losing her patience. Slowly, but surely, it was whittling away. In her mind's eye, Itsuwa pictured a small piece of wood having its bark slowly shaved away by a sunglasses-wearing knife, clutched in the chubby, greasy hand of some overweight man, clad in overalls, and a straw hat.

Itsuwa wasn't going to back down. Closing the distance between herself, and the young man on the couch, she proceeded to sit herself down, next to him. Her eyebrows arched in frustration, as she looked into the dark sunglasses that adorned his face.

"I'm not hurting you like that again, Tsuchimikado-san. The last spell didn't "fuck up". It went through, and you know it as much as I do. Something's wrong. That creature, or man, whatever it was, it did something to you. Stop being such a stubborn, bull-headed idiot, and let me take you to the emergency room."

"Let me try something, first."

Motoharu rose up. Itsuwa followed behind, like a fussy housemaid, demanding that he cease and desist. Entering the bathroom of their temporary residency, Motoharu stood in front of the mirror, topless. Itsuwa stopped, and stood next to Necessarius' Spymaster, silent. The duo both looked at the unsightly boil sprouting from his shoulder. Beneath the light provided by the lightbulbs above the bathroom's mirror, Itsuwa was able to better see the ugly, bloodied, crusted-over flesh that surrounded the emerald green boil.

It looked even more like the area surrounding the boil was becoming scaly. It almost resembled hard-packed earth, cracked, and barren. Individuals "scales" seemed to rise up, around the boil, poking at it, as if they existed solely to highlight the thing's existence. Beneath these "lifted" scales, Itsuwa could see a slew of repulsive, sticky-looking, dark yellow liquid. Hues of emerald green, and crimson were mixed within, forming a truly unsightly concoction. Itsuwa swallowed, hard.

"Nasty, eh? Here. I want to show you something, in the light. Last time I popped this fucking thing, somethin' came… came out. Looks like a little… thing, floating around in there. See it?"

Motoharu pointed to the boil, the tip of his finger pressing against its surface. The boil shifted in place, and produced a soft glopping sound, as Motoharu poked at it. It moved to the left, being forcibly pushed by the Spymaster's extremity. Itsuwa stepped closer, placing her hand upon Motoharu's bare shoulder. The Backstabbing Blade shuddered, slightly, as a chill ran up his spine; the palm of Itsuwa's hand was oddly clammy, but, soft. Soft as a baby's skin. He moved, for some reason, unknown to him, to place his hand on Itsuwa's own; his mind's command to his body was interrupted by Itsuwa's shout.

"Oh my God. Oh my… GOD… there is something. There's something inside of it, Tsuchimikado-san. What is it?! It looks like it has l-limbs?!"

"It does have legs," Motoharu grumbled. "Last one that came out was dead. I think? Maybe it was just stillborn. Flushed it down the toilet."

Rather than striking her travelling companion, Itsuwa restrained herself, and, taking control of the situation, the furious young woman turned her fury to the bright blue drywall of the small apartment's bathroom. Her fist connected with the wall, causing a loud, sudden bang to ring out. Itsuwa's blow caused the entire room to shake. The mirror, hanging on the wall of the bathroom vibrated, and the shower curtain, little more than a dinky, plastic thing jammed between either of the shower's bright blue-colored, tiled walls, to become dislodged. It fell into the white, porcelain bathtub with a series of loud clangs.

"Why didn't you just tell me? Why are you always keeping things from me, Motoharu? Because I'd worry? Well, yes, I would worry, and, I'm worried now, so, did you really accomplish anything, other than managing to really piss me off? I'm your friend, your partner, for crying out loud; just let someone shoulder your burdens, once in a while, you… unfathomable jerk!"

Motoharu stared, horrified, into the mirror.

"I… I-I've c-caught K-Kami Disease… am I becoming what Kami-yan used to be?! I don't want that fucking misfortune!"

Within an instant, Motoharu perked back up, shaking his horror off with a chuckle, and a wide, toothy grin. "Burdens? Babe, I have no burdens. I wasn't "hiding" anything from you. I wanted to find out if more than one was going to be produced. Now, I know, and, so do you. So, all in all, everything's working out, yeah? It's not like I'm keeping you out of the loop."

Motoharu placed the index finger, and thumb of his right hand to Itsuwa's chin. She moved to smack the extremity away, as gently as she could manage, but, the Spymaster's soft, yet, oddly commanding and intimidating tone of voice stopped Itsuwa in her tracks. "By the way, you might want to look away."

In one swift, fluid motion, Motoharu had leaned himself over the bathroom sink. Itsuwa's heart began to beat, quicker, and quicker. What was he doing? Motoharu smirked, as he began wrapping his right hand around the emerald green boil. Under his breath, he muttered a soft vocalization that was nearly inaudible. "Fallere825."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu's hand squeezed down, violently, on the boil. It exploded; in an instant, the entirety of the bathroom's sink, as well as its faucet, and taps, were bathed in a viscous, emerald green goop. Bubbling, and hissing, quite loudly, the goop had been forced outwards, from within the boil. The mirror had been victimized, as well; its bottom half was splattered with emerald green goop, dripping down its surface, towards the counter below.

The strength of Itsuwa's stomach carried her through, but just barely. Tsuchimikado Motoharu's shoulder had returned to its normal size. The boil was gone, completely. Vanished. What remained of the boil were wads of crusted-over skin, some of which, following the destruction of the boil, had been ravaged, barely clinging to the Backstabbing Blade's shoulder. Individual "scales" had been knocked away, revealing small "pools" of that same disgusting-looking yellow goop, which was beginning to drip down, from Motoharu's shoulder. Running along his skin, the liquid was taking its time.

From the chunks of crusted-over skin that had managed to remain in place, as they'd been before the boil's forced detonation, dark red lifeblood mixed with emerald green fluid, and poured out, from the unsightly wound. It trailed along Motoharu's shoulder, dripped down his chest, and even down his back, mixing with the thick, dark yellow excretions.

Motoharu reached into the sink, fearlessly, wearing a rather curious-looking facial expression. The blonde-haired, sunglasses-wearing spy clicked his tongue, as he stuffed his 'spare' hand into the pocket of his track shorts.

"Aw! Look! It's a little baby… something!"

Itsuwa reeled back, her eyes wide, her lips parted, slightly. She gasped, and reached, instinctively, for a Friulian Spear that wasn't strapped to her back, but, rather, remained disassembled, sitting safely, and uselessly, in her bag.

In his right hand, Motoharu held up a disgusting, inhuman thing. Dangling between Motoharu's right hand's defiled index finger, and his right hand's puss-covered thumb, by what appeared to be a tail, or, some other sort of appendage, the little existence seemed to be moving, slowly, back and forth, like a pendulum. It couldn't have been any larger than a particularly plump mouse; four or five inches, at the absolute most. The thing was a mess. Emerald green liquid dripped from its body. Beneath the liquid, both Itsuwa and Motoharu could make out patches of bright, almost rose red.

"You. Are. Terminated," Motoharu remarked. "I think it's dead. Whatever it is. Gonna clean it off. Hold up, just one second."

Itsuwa, pressing herself up against the bathroom's wall, nodded, a couple of times. "D-do we really want to know what it is? We s-should just crush it with a b-book, or something…"

"No books here, babe; unless you want to buy me one. I wouldn't mind a bedtime story. If you wanted to be really nice, you could provide me with a lap pillow, too."

As Itsuwa cursed Motoharu's existence, under her breath, trying to keep herself away from the weird, green-covered thing that dangled in the Backstabbing Blade's grip, he turned either of the taps clockwise. Instantly, his left hand joined his right in being a defiled, dirtied mess.

Its palm was smeared with the emerald green liquid. It was warm, to the touch; Motoharu internally likened the sensation to resting his hand upon the surface of a hot towel. If the liquid didn't look like something spewed from the gaping maw of a, or, the Bogeyman, the sensation wouldn't have been a bad one, necessarily. Warm, but, not scalding hot.

Cold water was forcibly ejected from the liquid-covered tap. Rushing over the surface of the strange existence that'd been ejected from Motoharu's boil, the water washed away the warm, emerald green liquid; steam was produced, as the two liquids met, clashing against one another in a struggle for supremacy. Rising upwards, towards the bathroom's ceiling, the steam raced past Motoharu's nose, causing him to hold his breath, until he could turn his face away.

Minutes passed. Beneath the constant spewing of water from the sink's faucet, Motoharu held the existence in the palms of his hands, watching, curiously, as the cold water washed the emerald green liquid away. Dripping into the sink, the liquid slipped into the drain, producing steam, whenever it came into contact with the faucet's cold water.

The prone, outer shell of the vaguely reptilian thing had been mostly cleared of the emerald green liquid, that'd encased it.

Motoharu turned his head back, and looked to Itsuwa, who tilted her own head to one side. The young woman raised an eyebrow. "It's safe, Itsuwa-san. I think it's dead, anyways. I think it was born dead, if "born" is the right word to describe something like this. Does this make me a young mother?"

"That's really dark, and tasteless," Itsuwa chastised. "Could you imagine what it'd be like for a mother, if their child was stillborn? You and I don't know that kind of loss. It's not something to joke about, Tsuchimikado-san. You need to start being just a little bit more thoughtful."

Regardless of her feelings towards the tasteless, and rather morbid sense of humor of Necessarius' Spymaster, Itsuwa approached him. Standing at his side, the young woman stuffed her hands into the pockets of her Capris, as to avoid the instinctual desire to place them, or, worse, both of her entire arms, on the counter, which was dangerously close to the mess of emerald green that covered the sink, and the bathroom's mirror.

Not for the first time that day, Itsuwa gasped, as she leaned in, closer, looking down at the strange, prone existence, which was cupped in Motoharu's palms. Its form was rough-looking, covered in scales. Bright red in coloration, they started from the existence's neck, and reached down, towards the long, narrow protrusion, that looked almost rubbery. It really did resemble a tail.

The existence, indeed, seemed to have limbs; four in total, two on each side. Each limb was covered in the same, red-colored scales, as most of its form. Each ended with three chubby-looking "toes"; at least, Itsuwa and Tsuchimikado Motoharu rationalized the growths as being toes. They possessed no talons; they were stubby, and looked quite harmless.

It could clearly be seen that the existence had eyes, which were closed shut. On the underside of its head, there was a long, thin line, which seemed to separate a small, scale-covered jaw from the rest of the existence's flat head. Protruding from the back of its head, the existence appeared to have strands of dark-colored hair, which were stuck together. Clinging to them, emerald green liquid held them together, almost acting like a superglue. Along its back, dull-looking spines protruded, rising upwards, like the peaks of mountains. Each point was soft, and even slightly squishy, to the touch.

Motoharu, holding the thing in his right hand, poked it with his left hand's index finger, still holding it over the sink. It didn't move of its own accord. Dangling there, like some sort of abandoned hanging victim, the thing was clearly lifeless.

"A lizard was growing in there? Or, somethin' that looks like a lizard? Neato. I wonder if another one will grow."

"We're not finding out," Itsuwa spoke, snapping out of her trance. "We need to take this… creature, whatever it is, to a laboratory, for examination. We need to learn…"

Motoharu shook his head, again, as if he was attempting to teach some lesson to a wayward child. This fact wasn't lost upon Itsuwa, who grunted in frustration, as Motoharu set the small, scaly reptilian existence on the bathroom's limestone counter. Setting his hands beneath the running water, he began to lather them well.

"Nah. I have an idea. An actual idea. I'm going to call Cleavage-Sama; Index will be with her. Index will know more than either of us. This isn't some crazy esper shit, Itsuwa-san. This shit's magic. Never seen an esper ability that can make lizards grow in boils, more than once. What would be the purpose? The problem might be in actually getting her to talk."

"It's not producing detectable mana," Itsuwa argued. She walked around, to the other side of Motoharu, who was continuing to clean his hands. Itsuwa bent down; Motoharu shifted his eyes away from his hands, allowing his mind to work on autopilot, while he observed Itsuwa's bosom, from a wonderful, top-down perspective. Though not low-cut, Itsuwa's choice of shirt was still tight enough to highlight those wonderful buns of hers. He certainly wasn't going to pass the opportunity up.

Itsuwa's attention was elsewhere, luckily for Necessarius' spymaster. With her vision on the same level as the prone, outstretched reptilian existence, she stared it down, glaring daggers at it. At any moment, Itsuwa had mentally prepared her mind to order her body to leap backwards, away from the reptilian existence. She expected the thing to suddenly lurch to life, and spit a stream of that disgusting, emerald green liquid at her, from its mouth.

"It's scary. It makes me feel really scared. I don't know why. If Kamijou-san doesn't know anything about this thing, then, will you come to the emergency room with me? Will you give this thing to one of the City's laboratories, then?"

"Deal," Motoharu spoke. "What's the matter? Scared Tsuchimikado Junior is going to bite you?"

"You're disgusting, and an idiot," Itsuwa snapped. "Wrap it up in toilet paper, or something. I don't want to see it, ugh."

While Itsuwa took her leave from the bathroom, apparently heading towards the apartment's kitchen, based on which room of their temporary residency she stepped into, the Spymaster was moving towards the toilet.

Motoharu reached to a small, brass roll holder, which was attached to the side of the bathroom's counter that faced the toilet. Constructed of what, externally at least, appeared to be some type of blue-colored drywall, the left side of the bathroom's counter was quite stable, and rather solid. Downwards, emerald green liquid dripped, towards the floor of the duo's temporary residency's bathroom.

Motoharu proceeded to grasp the golden-colored, brass roll holder with one hand, and, with the other, he tugged a few pieces of plain, white toilet paper away from the nearly exhausted roll. Turning back to the prone, lifeless-looking reptilian existence, Motoharu wrapped the thing in the toilet paper he'd retrieved.

"Itsuwa-san isn't a fan of you, little guy. Too bad. I think, if you were alive, I'd keep you as a pet, or somethin. Name you the Second Coming of Maika. Heh. I bet Maika wouldn't like you too much. Fuck this. Look at me, talking to a dead lizard that came out of a boil on my goddamn, fucking shoulder."

For good measure, Motoharu reached down, towards the bathroom's wooden rack, before he left the room; retrieving a small, plastic bag, one of approximately, by the Backstabbing Blade's count, ten, he dropped the reptilian existence, wrapped in a cocoon of toilet paper, inside, and sealed the small bag up, by wrapping one of Itsuwa's elastics around it.

Itsuwa greeted Motoharu, as he left the bathroom behind, flicking the lightswitch off, behind him. With a grunt, Motoharu started; he hadn't expected to see her there. She stood by the couch, in the living quarters, her arms folded beneath her bosom, an eyebrow raised in his direction.

She really was beautiful; Tsuchimikado Motoharu would've been an idiot to deny such a fact. She was gorgeous; an absolutely stunning beauty. What such a wonderful-looking woman had been doing in the middle of the warzone that school district seven had become, five years ago, Motoharu never did end up asking.

She'd seen it all, just as he had, and he knew it. Aleister, Aleister's pets; that ghost, and the purple-haired, lurching monstrosity that'd suddenly returned to its former jailer's side, the eight semi-invisible dragons, that'd emerged from the ravaged stump, where Kamijou Touma's right arm had been; the very things that had brought Aleister Crowley, figuratively, to his knees, utterly broken. Motoharu had seen the look of horror, the wild, uncontrollable fear in Aleister Crowley's eyes, as Kamijou Touma seemingly ordered the things around, like they were his pets.

They'd listened. They'd obeyed his every command. Snapping, tearing, screaming, in some incomprehensible tongue. Bleeding. Explosions. It all suddenly rushed back to Motoharu. In the heat of the moment, Kamijou Touma had become someone else.

"I'll piss on your fucking grave. I'll dance on it, you monster! Boys! Tear this animal a new asshole. Munch on Kreutune, while you're at it! Kill 'em all! KILL 'EM ALL! KILL 'EM ALL! KIIILLLLL!"

Despite the odds, they had. They had apparently understood Touma's orders. They had obeyed without question.

"Tsuchimikado-san," Itsuwa spoke, snapping Motoharu out of his trance; he wasn't going to let her know that he'd temporarily been hypnotized, brought back into the moment that brought Academy City collapsing in on itself, by the sight of her.

"Oi, babe," Motoharu remarked. With a shake of his head, he'd taken to his old, ever-reliable defense mechanism; that shit-eating grin.

"Set that… thing, somewhere. I almost forgot; I need to wash that wound out. No arguments. Put that thing away, somewhere, I don't care, and get back in the bathroom. I'll warm up a facecloth."

"Whatever you say, Itsuwa-nee," Motoharu jokingly remarked. Placing the clear, plastic bag on the coffee table, he turned his back to Itsuwa, and headed back into the bathroom, from where the two had just emerged, walking with something that resembled, but wasn't quite as simple as a cocky swagger.

Itsuwa wasn't far behind him. Grabbing a facecloth, aqua in coloration, from the corner of the bathroom's tub, she ran it beneath a stream of warm water, which she commanded to pour out from the tub's faucet, by turning its "H" tap counterclockwise.

"Sit down," Itsuwa stated, firmly. "Bite down, too. This might sting. I'm rubbing soap on this."

Motoharu shrugged, nonchalantly, as Itsuwa did so. Wrapping the facecloth around the index finger of her left hand, she rubbed the cloth over the undefiled side of the bar of soap, which sat next to the bathroom's sink.

"Hit me, babe. I've been through worse than a little stinging. You ever hear about "Chinese water torture"? Pretty nasty stuff, even if it's not that bad in concept. Long story, don't let Sanctis-san's girls think you're spyin' on them. Psychos."

"I bet you were doing something completely idiotic, as usual," Itsuwa remarked. She placed the facecloth, wrapped around her finger, to the perpetually-bleeding wound. Motoharu didn't seem to react, even as, on the facecloth, she'd scooped away a small blob of dark yellow, paste-like substance. Retching, Itsuwa washed the facecloth out, beneath a stream of boiling hot water, provided by the sink's faucet.

"T-talk to me, Tsuchimikado-san. This is disgusting. Didn't think the human body could produce anything quite like this. No? Fine. I'm not letting this fester inside me anymore. Why are you always wearing masks? Why can't you just let the people who're close to you learn who you really are? Don't try to cover your tracks. You know this isn't you."

Motoharu soon felt a cool sensation. Looking to the side, Motoharu learned that, against the wound, Itsuwa was gently running the bar of soap. Suds mixed with blood, the thick, paste-like substance, and the emerald green goop. Running down from his shoulder, and, along the surface of his chest, Motoharu reached to the brass roll holder, ripped off a few pieces of toilet paper, and caught the dripping mess. Still, he felt nothing. He was bleeding, and producing something that looked a lot like puss. He should've been feeling pain, of some sort.

"Because it's my job," Motoharu answered, cryptically. The cool sensation fled, as the soap left his shoulder, temporarily. It was washed, in the stream of warm water, before it was quickly returned to the shoulder from where it'd come.

"There's one person who knows about all of that. I keep her far away from me. You? You can take care of yourself. Wouldn't surprise me if you've jammed that spear in some asshole's… asshole. That sounded better in my head. Point is, it's part of my job. We're coworkers, Itsuwa, babe. This is strictly business. Don't try and make it personal, yeah?"

Itsuwa didn't stop. As gently as she could manage, Itsuwa continued to wash out the wound, periodically dabbing around it, with the facecloth she'd retrieved. Occasionally, scale-like growths would fall away from the wound. As before, Motoharu didn't seem to notice. He certainly didn't wince, or even pay much attention to the fact that she was cleaning the wound out.

Itsuwa looked past her travelling companion, towards the floor of their temporary residency's bathroom. Awkwardly, she smiled, thinly.

"I can't really fault you for feeling that way," Itsuwa spoke, following a period of brief, slightly awkward silence. "It's… okay. I guess. You're still a jerk, though. You're always sending me these weird, mixed signals. I don't know what to make of them. I guess it's just a… a guy thing? I don't know. You used to always fool around with Touma, and Kamijou-san, and even Misaka-san like that. Am I just a "male co-worker" to you?"

Tsuchimikado Motoharu found himself caught up in a rather nasty web. Struggling to free himself, he writhed, and shook his form, to no avail. The hunter had become the game, even if the trapper who'd ensnared him had no idea that they'd even laid a trap for the hunter to fall into.

"That's a good question," Motoharu spoke, rather softly. There was still an air of confidence, within his voice, detectable by Itsuwa; he wasn't going to let his guard down. That would be taking too many unnecessary risks.

"What can I say for myself, really, besides the obvious? We're both single, adult human beings. I'm a man, and you're a woman. I think. I hope, or I'm going to have to get rid of some images in my head. There're certain things men need, and, there're certain things women need. I'm just doing what's in my nature, babe."

Itsuwa rinsed the facecloth out, for the nth time. After running the bar of soap, which was slowly beginning to gradually become smaller, and smaller, beneath the stream of hot water, the young woman returned the cleansing device to Motoharu's shoulder. She picked away another scale-like piece of crusted-over skin, tossing it into the sink. She nearly retched, despite herself, and despite her stomach of steel.

"So, what you're telling me is this: you're a horny jerk. You can barely control your own stupid urges, and, to cope with them, you send me all these idiotic mixed signals, and hit on me, at every chance you get."

Motoharu craned his neck, in Itsuwa's direction, and, though she couldn't see it, beneath the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, the Backstabbing Blade winked. "That's the gist of it, babe. That's the gist of it. You're cool; dependable, too. One tough cookie. The fact that you're smoking, too, is really just a nice bonus."

Itsuwa didn't shout at him, or raise her hand to him again. She didn't wince, or even make any sort of disparaging remarks about him. Instead, she began to wipe around the wound with the facecloth she'd retrieved. It was certainly an ugly thing. There was a crater in Motoharu's shoulder, where the boil had been. At the very least, in terms of "good" news, the pinkish red flesh, visible within the crater, seemed to look normal enough.

"Thank you," Itsuwa eventually spoke, causing Motoharu to lock eyes with her; due to the sunglasses that completely obscured her view of his eyes, Itsuwa had no idea that he'd done so. The physical message, however, was there.

"Thank you for letting me get this straight. I think… I think I've been following the weird, mixed signals a little bit too much, lately. I've been letting them get to my head. You're right. We're just co-workers. Men and women can be co-workers, even friends, without having any sort of romantic relationship with one another. Even if you are a jerk, you're not an idiot – I never mean that, when I say it. I'm just playing around. I've had a lot of fun times, being your partner, Tsuchimikado-san. You've taught me a lot, too. I hope I've taught you a thing or two."

"You taught me not to fuck with you, when you've got that spear around," Motoharu snickered. Itsuwa giggled, warmly, as she ran the bar of soap through Motoharu's wound one last time.

Setting the bar of soap back on the side of the bathroom's sink, and outright tossing the facecloth into the small dustbin, that sat next to the toilet's bowl, pressed up against the bathroom's wall, Itsuwa moved towards the wooden rack.

After sifting through its shelves, more than once, for a few minutes, she came up empty-handed.

"No bandages," Itsuwa spoke. "I'm going to run to the store. Hold tight. We need to get that… hole, bandaged up. Need anything?"

"A vacation," Motoharu grumbled in response. "We could go to the beach. Well, a beach. I wouldn't mind seeing you in a swimsuit. Even a one piece."

Itsuwa glared daggers at Necessarius' Spymaster, who couldn't help but flash her a cocky grin. "Now you're just doing it to bug me."

Motoharu nodded, and, in retaliation, Itsuwa gave his unwounded shoulder a gentle shove. "While you're out, I'll try and get a hold of Cleavage-Sama, and Index. Assuming that weird lizard thing hasn't climbed out of the bag I put it in. Even if we're bein' traced, doesn't really matter.

Cat's kind out of the bag, now, anyways. You're in deeper than most, Itsuwa-san. Beauty-senpai's on our side. Kind of. We're supposed to be opposed to one another, but, not really a lot of room for politics, these days.

"Beauty-senpai?"

"Sounds like a plan. Try not to screw up too badly," Itsuwa teased, as she turned her back to her travelling companion, and left the bathroom. Motoharu, watching on, observing her posterior's bouncing motions, stayed put. Even if he had a hole in his shoulder, he had something to take care; of something personal.

Out of context, any potential pedestrians, who could've, but weren't unfortunate enough to have stumbled onto the scene unfolding behind a rather well-to-do clothing shop in School Garden would've assumed that they'd stumbled upon something they weren't supposed to be seeing.

"Such bad luck. Notta."

Kamitou Touka, left hand raised, caused the limp, lifeless form of a Tokiwadai Middle School student to shake, in mid-air. Her short, golden-colored hair hung in her bloodied face. Her dark blue, pleated skirt hung downwards, pulled towards her torso by gravity. Touka didn't care about that.

"Oi, you," Touka snapped. His attention shifted, to another young woman. "You know where I can get some yen? Thought you rich girls were loaded. Guess that's just another lie, huh? Such bad luck. What's the security at Tokiwadai like? Maybe I'll just take hostages. Neither of you would do. Look at you, for fuck's sake! You're whores! Cum-guzzlers!"

The golden-haired girl fell to the cold, unforgiving concrete, in an unceremonious lump.

"She's not dead. But you'll be, if you don't answer my question. Right. Fucking. Now."

With hair, and eyebrows, charcoal in coloration, the blonde-haired, young woman's companion – at least, Kamitou Touka assumed her to be the bimbo's companion – shook. She'd collapsed, her legs having buckled beneath her some few minutes ago, at the sight of her friend being tossed into the ground, repeatedly, at least a dozen times, like a rag doll. The young woman's eyes were bright blue; she was no person of Japanese descent. Touka had seen these ones, before; their skin was whiter, and their eyes were a bit bigger than those of Japanese descent. He had to admit, they'd always been a bit ugly; but this one was a new breed of ugly.

"Hello? You deaf? Am I going to have to communicate with you through fucking sign language? You speak Japanese? I hope so, otherwise, you've got no reason to be here. Foreign trash."

The young woman shook her head, her blue eyes' vision locked onto the broken-looking form of her friend. She felt like the light brown-colored, brick wall of the clothing shop was about to collapse onto her. The pointy-haired, hospital garb-clad boy looked down at her with intense disdain in his dark-colored eyes. The rough, bumpy concrete beneath her offered no comfort.

"I wonder; do you have any?" Touka inquired. "Can't get anywhere without a little money, in this world of ours, can you? I know a thing or two about how these institutions work. Cliques, money, a little cock-sucking and underage pregnancies on the side. See! I get it. I'm one of you!"

Kamitou Touka chuckled, at his own "humor"; he was the only one who did. Soon enough, his grin had curled back, downwards, into an aggressive, frustrated scowl. "Kidding, kidding. I'm nothing like you. Who raised you two, ladies? Are your parents doctors? Lawyers? Researchers? Guess who raised me. Don't actually guess; you might hurt yourselves. A machine. A machine that's better than any of you trash."

The young woman felt herself leaving the ground; the wrist of Kamitou Touka's left hand flicked, to the right. Arcs of some unknown, translucent energy danced across his forehead; the young woman's form crashed into the rear wall of the clothing shop. With a thud, and a weak, pathetic-sounding, whimper-like cry, the young woman was slammed, again and again, against the wall. Touka's wrist flicked from one side, to the other.

Flicking his left hand's wrist downwards, Touka grunted, in aggravation, as the young woman was forcibly pounded against the concrete, hard. "Are you serious? Nothing? No change? Maybe you've got a card, or some bills. Didn't think of that. Duh! I'm a pretty big dickwad, aren't I?"

Swiftly, Touka approached the sniffling, convulsing, dark-haired young woman. Patting her down, he searched her form, looking for something that felt like a wallet; since both of these young women lacked purses, it was his best guess.

Nothing. The pockets of the young woman's pleated skirt were empty. He'd even stuffed his hands down her shirt; nothing had been found, in the young woman's soft, warm cleavage. Touka rose up, dusting his hands off, by rubbing their palms against his pants, as if he'd dirtied them, somehow.

"This is annoying. I've already wasted time on you dumbasses. Cum-gargling pigs. Someone'll find you, so, don't worry too much. No need to cry! Don't know who will find you, though. Maybe it'll be someone who has a shittier taste in women than I do. Anyways, happy trails, ladies!"

With his scornful words, the dark-colored, pointy-haired boy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hospital garb's pants, and whistled a chipper-sounding tune, quietly to himself. He took his leave, turning the corner, and leaving the rear of the clothing shop behind.

The young woman with the charcoal-colored hair pulled herself towards the sprawled-out form of her friend. The young woman's nails dug into the concrete. Something inside of her had been greatly damaged; her body hurt, whenever she even breathed in, slightly, through her nose. Continuing to pull herself, her knees scraped against the ground. One of her loafers had fallen off, left behind, laying on its side.

Her friend's golden-colored hair was bloodied, and matted, her facial expression twisted into one of absolute fear; tears stained her cheeks. Reaching out, the young woman with the charcoal-colored hair reached out, and, with some effort, grasped her friend's wrist. There was no pulse.

The young woman with the charcoal-colored hair lost the will to fight. Quietly, she wept to herself, as she barely breathed. Her chest heaved, forwards, and inwards; the pain was nearly unbearable. That animal should've finished her, too. Why hadn't he? How could a human being so cruel, so absolutely merciless? How could someone hold such disregard for another person's life?

It wouldn't be until some fifteen minutes passed, following Kamitou Touka's departure that an employee of the clothing shop, who'd intended to have some quiet, simple alone time, with only a few cigarettes for company, before his lunchbreak, discovered the two young women; two students of Tokiwadai Middle School, judging by their tattered uniforms.


	33. A Certain Apex

September 23rd, 2014. 6:52 PM.

Following Itsuwa's departure, Tsuchimikado Motoharu had found, and still did find himself alone in their temporary residency. This was hardly a problem, however. He'd gotten up to no good, indeed, engaging in a particularly unclean ritual (at least according to the doctrines of his 'faith', such a ritual was deemed 'unclean') that involved expunging a rather large amount of liquid from his body, while focused entirely on an image depicting his companion clad in a frilly, two-piece swimsuit. Dark red, almost crimson, in coloration, the swimsuit was nearly red as the blush that was spread across Itsuwa's cheeks, and over her nose.

Clutched, in his right hand's closed fingers was a rippled, partially-torn tissue, which had been filled, nearly to the brim, with a thick, milky substance. From its creases, the substances leaked, slowly, but steadily.

Having just finished stuffing his manhood back into the pair of orange-colored boxers that contained it, he pulled his shorts up, and sighed contentedly. Motoharu, with his shoulders slumped, trekked to the residency's bathroom, where he threw the defiled tissue into the toilet. Its contact with the surface of the water in the bowl caused a duo of ripples to rush outwards, from the point of impact.

The sink, and the bathroom's counter were both cleaned; not even a single trace of emerald green was visible. The bottom half of the bathroom's mirror, though smudged, was clear of the green liquid, as well. Turning either of the sink's taps to their respective halfway points, Motoharu washed his defiled, seed-covered hands, and lathered soap between their palms, and, over their tops, washing the reproductive fluid away. The fairly warm water dutifully cleansed Motoharu's extremities of the seed that had been spewed across them.

With the ritual of cleansing complete, Motoharu ran his water, and soap-covered hands over his bare chest, using the curly, blonde-colored hair that'd sprouted from its top to its bottom as a makeshift towel.

From point A, to point B, and back to point A again, Motoharu found himself sitting, again, on the couch of he and Itsuwa's temporary residency's living quarters. Between the couch's first and second cushions, Motoharu found his posterior resting, his back pressed, lazily, against the surface of the couch's backrest. He'd nearly sunken into it, his heart's steady beating slowing down, as he inhaled, held, and exhaled.

Producing his phone, he unlocked the device, and, tapping on its tempered glass touchscreen, opened the device's video calling app. Rather than starting a video call, however, Motoharu initiated a voice call with a contact labelled as "Erotic Fallen Angel".

Clutching the device in his right hand, Tsuchimikado Motoharu raised his phone to his right ear, and leaned back, further, against, and into the temporary residency's couch's backrest. For some moments, the app attempted to connect the call, producing a series of soft noises, resembling those that might've been produced by some sort of winged, feathered creature; they certainly weren't sounds produced by any songbird known to Motoharu. They were close, however, in their pitch.

There was a click, followed by a series of rustling sounds – or, what sounded to Motoharu like rustling sounds – that made the successful connection of the call known to the Backstabbing Blade. With his lips slowly curling into a shit-eating grin, Motoharu spoke the conversation's first words.

"Nee-chin! You're awake! Watching scary movies, or something? Found a boy to snuggle up with? Aw, my little nee-chin is growing up. Have you lost your virginity yet? I bet there are boys over in the land of tea and biscuits who'd love to have a chance at spearing your lower intestine. Make sure you're on the pill, when he cums inside of you, or there'll be little nee-chins running all over the place."

Kanzaki Kaori's vocalizations sounded anything but saintly. She muttered, rather than spoke, with irritation and contempt evident in her words. "Tsuchimikado. It's almost two o'clock in the morning. You've woken up Index. This had better be very, very good."

"That works out well, for me, actually," Motoharu stated, calmly. "Index is exactly who I need to talk to. Put her on the call, yeah? I'm gonna switch it over to a video call. There's something she needs to see."

Kaori didn't verbally respond. Motoharu heard more rustling sounds, like some sort of soft fabric being moved about. On a small pop-up menu, consisting of a total of six small icons, Motoharu grasped a small, virtual, bright green knob with his right hand's thumb, and swiped it to his left. The small telephone icon, situated in the center of the knob, quickly morphed into an icon depicting a square-shaped video camera.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu's view of the enclosed space, in which Kanzaki Kaori apparently still called home, even after all of the years that'd passed, was broadcasted to his mobile device from atop a wooden dresser. Smooth, and practically gleaming, beneath the dull, but noticeable golden light provided by what must've been a lamp, of some sort, the surface of the top of the dresser was mostly barren. Something that stood upright, and looked to be vaguely square-shaped was just out of view.

The room, itself, as well, was rather barren. The walls of the room were crafted of wood; or, at least they appeared to be, and were light brown in coloration. What was visible of the floor suggested that it, too, was crafted of either true, light-colored wood, or something that resembled light-colored wood. Motoharu silently leaned towards the latter being the material of construction. The ceiling of the room broke the mould; it didn't appear to be crafted of wood, or anything that resembled wood. It looked to resemble concrete, or possibly metal, and was a shade of light silver, in coloration.

Less than half of a large, roughly queen-sized bed was visible, in the frame. The comforter that covered at least part of the bed was dark grey in coloration, with lines, globs, and other nonsensically-shaped anomalies, each a much lighter shade in coloration dotting its surface. Thrown back, the comforter revealed the bed's dark grey sheets, which looked to have been quite tangled, and twisted. Half of a pillow was visible, scrunched up against the northernmost wall of the room, which the visible portion of the bed's wooden headboard was pressed against.

Across from the bed, on the easternmost side of the barren room, the legs of a metallic desk were visible. They, like the surface of the room's dresser, glowed beneath the dull, synthetic light that was cast over them, and reflected incomprehensible, greatly stretched blurs.

From the side of the queen-sized bed that was out of shot, a lump rolled into view; from beneath the comforter, tufts of light, silver hair were visible. The lump rose up, casting off the comforter, and sheets that surrounded it, revealing itself to, in fact, be a she.

It was Kamijou Index, clad in a baggy, loose-fitting yellow-colored onesie, who had cast off the bed's comforter. Her facial expression was one of confusion. Her eyelids were barely parted, her azure pupils almost, but not quite visible. Index crawled forward, and, bare feet first, stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over herself. She was tall; taller, even, than the last time that Motoharu had seen her, some three years ago. Her bosom seemed to have grown larger, as well. This, of course, was of more importance than her overall height. Her hair was straight, and long, falling a few inches past her posterior. The young woman's fringe, and bangs, were both an absolute mess; frizzled, and sticking up, they looked like large, crystalline protrusions, as opposed to strands of silver hair.

To Motoharu's surprise, another lump followed suit. This lump, like its predecessor, revealed itself to, in fact, be a human female. Her hair was much shorter than Index's, falling only to her shoulders. Black, in coloration, almost as black as crude oil, her hair's fringe, and its bangs, were about as pristine as Index's own; they weren't pristine at all. They were messed, and sticking up.

Himegami Aisa was clad in little more than simple undergarments. White, in coloration, they clung to her fit, curvy form. Himegami Aisa clambered out of bed, and, bare feet touching down onto the floor, approached the room's dresser. Unlike Index, who'd taken to standing still, in the center of the room, rubbing her eyes with her closed fists, groaning, Aisa seemed to be more aware, and, much more curious. Into the lenses of Tsuchimikado Motoharu's glasses, the young woman's pupils stared, her head tilted to one side.

"… hi, Tsuchimikado-san. How are you?"

"Didn't expect you," Motoharu remarked, preoccupied. Aisa was bent forward, bosom on full display. She either wasn't aware of this fact, or, she didn't care. Her lips were straightened, like a perfect line, her facial expression one of neutrality. Her eyes' pupils were dark, like the coloration of the outer surface of charcoal. "Good, all around. Better, now. Would you believe that having a parasite inside of you is actually pretty draining? Don't have kids, Himegami."

"H-Himegami….?! W-when did you get in here?!"

Kanzaki Kaori's voice was full of surprise; her vocalization came out as less of a shout, and more of a shriek. Though she wasn't visible on camera, Motoharu could almost visualize her facial expression; lips parted, eyes widened. He could practically see her fingernails clicking together, awkwardly.

"… one hour ago," Aisa stated, tilting her head to the right; apparently, Kaori was to the right of her phone's camera's lens. "… the door was unlocked, so, I allowed myself in. I was feeling lonely."

Index, who had sat herself down on the edge of the bed that was visible, in Kaori's phone's lens, turned, and looked at Aisa. She smiled, slightly; it was a weak gesture. Like some deformed, newborn creature, Index's smile died quite quickly, resulting in Index's facial expression returning to a state of melancholy. Motoharu felt an odd, unfamiliar pang in the right side of his chest, somewhere between his heart, and his stomach. Either of the corners of Index's lips had poked upwards, pathetically, struggling to rise, before they fell.

Upon closer inspection, Motoharu was able to see that Index's face looked quite pale. Otherwise, she appeared physically shipshape; her bodyweight appeared to be normal, given her age, and her height. As Aisa rose up, and trekked back to the bed, exposing her only semi-clothed posterior to Motoharu, who leaned forward, just a bit, Index scooted to the foot of the bed, towards the camera, as if to take the black-haired beauty's place.

"How is my family? How are Touma and Misaki? Are they with you? I want to talk to Touma and Misaki."

"They're fine, Index. Not with me. Don't know where they are. Probably out, doing something, a night on the town or some shit; but they're fine," Motoharu lied. There was that pang, again. Stronger, this time, the Backstabbing Blade felt like he was about to have a heart attack. The pang travelled, upwards, and struck the entirety of his upper chest, causing even his throat to throb in pain.

"You needed something, from me? It must be important. I'd hope you wouldn't call this late, otherwise. I know you're ignorant, but, I hope you aren't that ignorant."

The pang, and the pain that'd resulted was quickly shoved off, pushed to some dark corner of the Spymaster's mind. Motoharu raised his left hand, upwards, and, resting its elbow against his left leg's knee, he placed his chin the open palm of his hand. He produced a sigh.

"You're right, sweetheart. I wouldn't. It's pretty important. How're you feeling? They letting you get fresh air? You know, get a break from sitting around in there?"

"Sometimes," Index responded. "Kaori takes us on walks. Aisa comes, too. It's nice when it's just the three of us. Sometimes… she… comes, though. I don't like it when she comes."

Index rose up from the foot of the bed, and approached Kaori's phone; Motoharu heard the nun's feet slapping against the wooden floor, as she closed the distance between herself and the device. Leaning in, she moved her lips close to the phone, and whispered, "The "Archbishop". I just wish she would die, or something. I'd do it myself, if I could use magic. I want her to die, so badly, Tsuchimikado."

"Watch it," Motoharu snapped, his vocalization fleeing his lips in a more aggressive tone than he'd intended for it to have. "Index, sweetheart, watch your fucking mouth. You can't just say shit like that. It doesn't matter where you are; as long as you're in England, you need to watch it. England is her domain. You should know better, by now. I don't want anything to happen to you. I know how you're feeling, okay? I really do. I know you're probably aching to wring the bitch's neck. We all are. I shouldn't even be talking the way I am. See, how easy it is? It just happened to me, too. I shouldn't have said that, either, but, I did. Don't be a fuckup, like me. Just keep it to yourself."

Index moved away, and, pulling a chair, from out of frame, the young woman sat her posterior down upon its light-colored, brownish cushion. The piece of furniture seemed to have been crafted from stone. Its edges were smooth, as were its surfaces. It couldn't have been all that heavy, as Index had pulled it into frame by herself, with the pulling power of a single, thin arm.

"I'm listening, Tsuchimikado. What do you have for me? Can we make this quick? I'd like to be able to get back to sleep."

"Yeah. One sec, I'll have it in just a secon…"

Motoharu was stopped, mid-movement, his words fading into obscurity. His body seemed to have suddenly seized up, as if he lacked any sort of muscles, but, rather, had a series of gears, and servos, which has chosen to conk out at the worst possible moment. His jaw hung open, his eyebrows rose up, on his face, and, from his left nostril, as if on cue, thick, crimson lifeblood began to drip. Down his bare chest, the blood trickled, slowly, drip after drop. Out of frame, from the left side, Kanzaki Kaori herself stepped into view.

If Itsuwa was a stunningly beautiful goddess, a marvel of nature's engineering, which, to Motoharu, among others, she indeed was, Kanzaki Kaori was something else completely. There was nothing, on the mental "hotness scale" within the Backstabbing Blade's mind that could measure Kaori. Kanzaki Kaori broke the scale, simply by existing, and having the divine body she had. The "hotness scale" was rendered irrelevant.

Kaori was tall; almost menacingly so. Easily standing just a few inches over eight feet tall, the adult woman's long, black-bluish hair was tied up, into a messy top knot, which flopped to the left; there was simply too much hair. The laws of gravity pulled the knot downwards, as a result. Individual strands jumped outwards, frizzed. Others hung downwards more gracefully. Her hair's fringe hung, straightened, in her face, and her bangs dangled, awkwardly, next to either of her cheeks.

Kaori's perfect, drool-worthy form was clad in a knee-length, dark-colored robe, that looked fluffy to the touch, like the wool of some fluffy, sheep-like creature of fantasy. It was closed, protecting her private areas from being ogled by individuals such as Tsuchimikado Motoharu. The robe's floppy collar rose up, rubbing against the back of her neck. Motoharu was convinced it was some sort of nonverbal Freudian slip, but, an inch or two of cleavage was visible. Not much, but, just enough to entertain Necessarius' Spymaster, and cause his manhood to suddenly rise, despite having just been quite savagely beaten.

Motoharu's eyes' vision fell, lower, towards Kaori's long, slender, and extremely muscular legs. Kaori's thick, milky thighs were covered, to the Spymaster's distress, by her nightwear. Her calves, and knees, however, were visible, just as thick, and milky, as their thighs. Motoharu could've drooled, at the sight of the adult woman.

"Nee-chin, you're looking spectacular," Motoharu spoke, sitting up straight, along with his member. He flashed the adult woman a grin, which caused her to clench her fist, and slowly shake her head, from left, to right, as a vein in the corner of her forehead bulged.

"Show Index what you have to show her, or I will find you, and I will – mark my words – I will kill you, Tsuchimikado. No one here is in the mood for your perverted nonsense. I grieve for your travelling companion."

"Itsuwa-san loves me," Motoharu stated, in a matter of a fact tone of voice. He reached forward, towards the coffee table, adjacent to he and Itsuwa's temporary residency's couch. Pulling his arm back, towards him, no one on the other end of the video call could see it, but, from the small, plastic bag, Motoharu produced the reptilian existence.

Its outward appearance had changed, slightly. Its body appeared to have shrivelled. Its scales looked, but didn't feel any different; they seemed, physically, to be almost weaker. Their color seemed to have dulled, as well. Having turned from a shade of bright red, to a dark, almost salmon pink, the reptilian existence looked to be rotting.

Gripping the reptilian existence's tail, between the index finger and thumb of his right hand, Tsuchimikado Motoharu lifted the thing upwards, and dangled it before his phone's camera, for both the nun, and Kanzaki Kaori to see.

"So, remember the weird-ass motherfucker I was telling you about the other day, Cleavage-Sama? The antler guy, with the crossbow? He shot me, right? In my shoulder, with an arrow, of all the things to shoot someone with. It's not like Academy City doesn't have entire stockpiles of deadly firearms, pretty much just waiting to be purchased, for, like, a thousand yen, if that.

"Anyhoo, in the same shoulder, a few hours following the penetration… heh, penetration… my shoulder started bubbling up, and swelling. Next day? A big old boil was there, on my shoulder, just sticking out. Ugly-looking thing, round, like an egg, green, like an emerald. Light green, almost lime green. I thought I'd been able to see something, inside of it, but, I wasn't sure. It seemed like the most idiotic thing to think, at the time.

"So, what did I do? I popped the fucker, of course, in the tub. Ugly thing like this came out. Flushed it down the toilet. Guess what? Another one grew back, in a few goddamn hours! Next day? New boil, same size, same shit. Popped that one, this time with my Great Spirit Revealing Maid at my side. Then, this fucker came out. Saved him for you, Index, sweetheart! Want me to mail it to you? In all seriousness, not fucking around, now, what exactly is this thing? Any idea? I kind of wanna know what it was that was living in my shoulder."

Kamijou Index leaned forward, and squinted, slightly. Kaori had taken to standing behind the onesie-clad nun. The adult woman appeared to be massaging Index's shoulders, gently, a sensation which the silver-haired nun was clearly enjoying, to some extent, or another.

"I'm going to need to see its head, Tsuchimikado. The back, specifically. Is there hair? The color's right… the color's almost right. Should be a bit brighter, but, everything else is on point."

Motoharu pushed the reptilian existence even closer to his phone's camera. Bending its head forwards, with his thumb, Motoharu motioned towards the matted, tangled hairs that were ensnared, wrapped together, by globs of emerald green liquid. Index's eyelids widened, and her pupils shrank.

"Cockatrice," Index stated simply, and flatly, once she'd regained her composure. "An immature cockatrice. No piece other than the "Livre des Mille Monsters" discusses the lifecycle of the French cockatrice, which supposedly shares much in common with its English, mainland European, and Asian cousins, better.

"What boggles me is that nowhere in the Livre does Adrien Desrochers, the piece's author, speak of an immature cockatrice hatching from within the body of a human host. Something doesn't add up. They always hatch from a clutch of eggs, laid by a mother. A clutch, never just a single offspring. The eggs of a clutch always hatch together, at once, ensuring a lifelong bond between the mother's offspring. A mother cockatrice has better things to do than care for its own young, so, they must fend for themselves."

"Alright, so, we have a name to put to this little guy," Motoharu remarked, nonchalantly. Stuffing the stillborn, immature cockatrice back into the plastic bag, from where he'd obtained it, Motoharu shrugged his shoulders. He tossed the bag back onto the coffee table, and temporarily left the call, to wash his hands.

"Cockatrice?" Kaori inquired, seemingly skeptically. Index turned back, towards their shared bed; Himegami Aisa still seemed to be tossing and turning; she struggled to find the perfect, relaxing position in which she could return to slumber.

"Cockatrice aren't quite what you might think, Kaori," Index explained, turning her attention from the perpetually-spinning Aisa, and back to her old friend. "Not like roosters, or chickens; not even vaguely bird-like at all, for that matter. According to the Livre, they look a lot more like prehistoric reptiles; the only relation to birds, at all, is in the feather-like hair that sprouts from their bodies. I'm inclined to believe someone who'd managed to obtain the severed foot of an imp. I can't show you, but, it's in there. Actually, that might explain the headaches. How did the Roman Catholic dunderheads forget to take out an imp's foot?"

"Are you experiencing one, now, Index?" Kaori asked, softly, as she walked, slowly, to Index's right. Kneeling at Index's side, Kanzaki Kaori rested the outstretched palm of her right hand on the nun's thigh.

Index shook her head. "No, not right now, thankfully. They're infrequent, but, still annoying. It's just a part of life, I guess. As much as I appreciate your kindness, Kaori, I think I'll lay off the pills, for a little while. Maybe we can try some of that herbal tea, from the shop? It would give us both an excuse to get out, for a little bi…"

"Aaaaand what's going on here? Nee-chin, are you into girls?! I should've known! It's okay! I'll be marching right beside you in the pride parade! I like your style! Index is a cutie."

Kanzaki Kaori glared a thousand sharpened, gleaming daggers at Tsuchimikado Motoharu, who'd returned to the call. He leaned back, in his seat on the couch, and flashed the two women that shit-eating grin he was all too famous for. Kamijou Index didn't seem to be any more impressed. She'd raised a silver-colored eyebrow, and snorted, as if to say, "forget it".

"So, cockatrice, huh? It's definitely something that Academy City won't know diddly dogshit about. Alright, fair enough. Makes my job a Hell of a lot harder, but, whatever, what's living without a few challenges, here and there? Can't complain all that much. Does Archbishop Tittyfuck want this, or should we keep it? Don't really know what to do with it; it's, uh, dead. I think. Was born dead, if dead is the right word."

"The breath of a cockatrice is deadly; being exposed to it for more than a few seconds will instantaneously kill any human being within a few inches of its exhalations," Index explained, unenthusiastically. "Weasels are the only known animal that can inhale the breath of a cockatrice and live; whether they're immune, or have developed an immunity through natural selection is unknown; the author of the Livre didn't seem to know, either. My advice? Get rid of it. The "Archbishop" shouldn't have something like that. She has enough power to abuse."

Motoharu nodded, physically indicating that he agreed with Kamijou Index's words of wisdom. Switching hands, he allowed his right arm to rest, as he began to hold his phone upwards, a few feet away from his face, with his left. "One last thing, before I let you lovely – and I do mean lovely – ladies go for the night. Why would Antler Man shoot me with an arrow that makes cockatrices? I guess a better question would be "how", rather than "why".

"The closest thing I can find on anything regarding humanoid "antler men" that doesn't pertain to creatures such as satyrs, or fauns, or the many feral "were-folk" are the various historical writings of European writers describing a group of spectral hunters, and huntresses, referred to as "the Wild Hunt", or simply, "the Hunt," Index stated, following her vocalization with a long, tired-sounding yawn. "The Wild Hunt's supposed 'leader', an individual mentioned in hundreds of different writings, from hundreds of different, unconnected individuals, Wodan, is said to have slaughtered a thousand Saints by himself… at once. Ignore the obvious problems with this statement. If you've somehow managed to rouse the anger of the Wild Hunt, we may as well give up right now. If the almighty Roman Catholic Church is scared of something, you know it's not to be trifled with."

"You're jumping to conclusions," Motoharu spat. "There was only one Antler Man. Not much of a Hunt, if there's only one hunter… unless, there're more, lurking around Academy City. Haven't been any attacks, since Accel-kun knocked Antler Man into a mountain. Could be possible that Antler Man was leading this "Wild Hunt". That's just a guess, though. Whatever, no big deal. I'll let you two go. Might contact you again at a later date if we come upon anything more. G'night, sleep tight, all that."

Index didn't verbally respond. Rather, she nodded, politely clasping her hands, and setting them in her lap. Kaori approached her phone, and, with a few taps, the video call was disconnected.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu needed more personal time. Kanzaki Kaori had inspired the Backstabbing Blade to begin round two; with an unconcerned shrug, he swiftly removed his legwear, and the boxers beneath.

September 23rd, 2014. 7:28 PM.

"O-oh God! What the F-FUCK?!"

Shrieks of terror were becoming commonplace. Devastator emulated the sound of a human's sigh, as it passed a terrified laborer by, nearly crashing into the smaller man with its shoulder. The laborer's form was pressed against a nearby, pipe-covered wall, shaking, profusely. Steam periodically emerged from one of the upper pipes. The hall's lighting, dim, and dirty, supplied only by multiple dusty wall-mounted bulbs, wasn't doing the laborer's fractured sanity any favors. His hands' fingers clung to the pipes, tightly. Hyperventilating, the laborer inched himself away from the lumbering, cyan-eyed machine.

For some time, Devastator continued walking down the darkened, twisting halls of school district ten's Reformatory, backtracking, towards the den from which it had emerged. Periodically, more passing laborers who encountered the machine reacted similarly to their comrade. Frightened shouts, wide eyelids, and shrunken pupils. Devastator responded with about as much enthusiasm as it had, previously.

That was, until, a duo of laborers in particular crossed the machine's path. They'd emerged from the leftmost passageway, at something of a fork, which connected four individual passageways, at an intersection of sorts. Like most walls in the Reformatory, the walls of the intersection were covered with snaking, twisting pipes, some of which didn't seem to be functioning properly; smoke billowed from small, barely-visible holes in their exteriors. Dangling from the ceiling of the intersection, suspended by perpetually-rattling, rusted chains, there was a small collection of stoplights, at least a dozen, in total, only seven of which seemed to actually function properly, bathing the intersection in fluorescent green light.

One of the laborers, clad in a pair of dark-colored, denim overalls, a sleeveless shirt, olive in coloration, and a pair of chocolate-colored work boots seemed to be absolutely ecstatic, a wide, toothy grin stretched across his face. His eyes slanted upwards, and outwards, awkwardly. The laborer's nose was small, with a flattened nasal bridge, and, his hairline was receding, not particularly lengthy, at all. An odd feature, given the fact the laborer didn't appear to be all that old. Not necessarily a buzz cut, but, short enough to resemble one, at least at first glance, his hair was oddly frizzled-looking. The laborer's face was clean shaven, covered in small nicks and scratches, that looked to have long ago clotted over. His laryngeal prominence appeared to be the most heavily nicked. Devastator didn't need advanced combat drivers to quickly come to the conclusion that the man was handicapped, to some extent or another.

The second laborer appeared to be Caucasian, possibly North American in descent, rather than of Asian descent, like his comrade. Outwardly, he appeared to be in better shape than his comrade. His hair was longer than the hair of his partner in crime. He had a full face of light-colored facial hair, which clung to his cheeks, chin and his upper lip. His neck appeared to be clean shaven. Clad in an outfit similar to that of his fellow's, the second laborer wore light blue-colored overalls. Beneath, there was a long-sleeved top, light blue in coloration. A pair of torn, ruined trainers protected his feet.

"You!" The first laborer exclaimed, in fluent English. "I saw you out front! You totally fucked that wasp machine in the ass, man! That was so cool! One second, it was in the sky, flying all over the place, one second later, it was torn in half! Ripped, man! Wooooo!"

"You speak? You speak English?" The second laborer inquired, in Japanese. Devastator's lack of an immediate response seemed to indicate that the machine didn't. "Kyouji don't speak Japanese. Sorry, by the way. Don't kill 'im. If you've gotta kill anyone, kill me. Boy's not right in the head. Don't deserve to die because of it."

Devastator brushed past both men, shouldering its way between them, and continuing on its way. With a swift switch of its internal language driver, triggered by a series of thought-based commands, the machine responded, in English, "I speak most languages."

"Meet you back at the loadin' bay," the second laborer remarked, in English, waving his hand in the direction of the first laborer. With an inattentive nod, the first laborer continued to follow after Devastator. "Don't take long."

"How'd you get here, huh? Someone tell you about the Mistress's operation? She's pretty. Really pretty, actually. Kind of insane, but, that adds to her prettiness. You think that orange hair is natural? Her face is nice, unless she's mad, then it gets all stretchy. She has pretty lips, too. I want to kis—"

"Your Mistress is dead," Devastator remarked, nonchalantly, continuing to walk in a straight line, before it made a right turn, down another hallway. "Please don't engage in necrophilia with the body."

The laborer frowned, slightly, but didn't seem to be overly perturbed. Rather, he picked up his pace, and fell step in step with the metallic monstrosity. "Did you kill her? Why, man?"

The machine shook its head, no, its neck humming, and whirring. "Not me. It would've been more convenient if she was still alive. She might've been able to answer an important question. Your Mistress doesn't matter, anymore. This Reformatory, and all of its Supirium is mine."

The laborer, and the machine passed by a group of other laborers. Given the presence of another human being, they didn't react in quite the same, volatile manner their comrades had. Their reactions were subdued, but, visibly, they were frightened. Crowding against the left wall of the hallway, they stared at the machine, as if to prepare themselves to break into a run at any moment, should it attempt to harm them.

"You have a name? My name's Kyouji. Been working here for three years. This mean you're my new boss, man? I'm a really good worker! Just ask Eddie! I can make the machines work, just as well as everyone else! It's like a video game!"

Devastator looked downwards, at the laborer, who was apparently named Kyouji. Just Kyouji. For a few moments, the mechanical monstrosity seemed to be sizing Kyouji up. Soon enough, it turned away, and again faced forward, looking away from the oddly curious man.

"Devastator; alternatively, you can refer to me by my originally designated codename, D-001. Your first assumption is correct. Your schedule, whatever that might be, remains the same. Your duties, however, are differing. You won't be shipping metal out, anymore. You'll be stockpiling anything that arrives."

Turning another corner, Kyouji only seemed to become more excited, and even more curious. Placing either of his hands on the machine's endoskeletal left arm, his hands' fingers wrapped around a singular metallic beam, that was present. Running from its elbow, to its wrist, the beam looked out of place, as if it was supposed to be covered. Kyouji attempted to lift Devastator's arm, upwards, as he walked next to it. He didn't succeed. No matter how much he struggled, and grunted, and pushed upwards, with all of his might, the limb didn't move.

"Heavy," Kyouji remarked, producing a pant, following the end of his vocalization. "You got human parts in there? Like a brain? Muscles?"

"I'll answer your question with a question of my own; why do you care?" Devastator inquired. It yanked its arm away, causing Kyouji to stumble, awkwardly. He managed to regain his balance, and, with a gleeful chuckle, continued to follow the machine, walking at its side, a wide, toothy grin ever present on his face.

"Never seen anything like you before, man! When you were doing all that crazy shit, out front, like killing that wasp robot, I got chills, man! Real chills! All up in my spine! Plus, the way you totally told the gate to suck your dick! Well, you don't have one but… ah, you know what I mean, man! Sucks that the pretty Mistress is dead, but, you're better! You're cooler, man! You probably shouldn't step on the guys, like pretty Mistress did. That hurt them! Especially when the pretty Mistress's heels dug into their backs. Sometimes they'd bleed."

Devastator stopped in its tracks; Kyouji nearly bumped into the machine. He only just managed to sidestep it, and avoid crashing head-first into its twisted, endoskeletal back.

"Kyouji, quit while you're ahead. There are matters in our world that would break your mind, and your spirit. I cannot be your friend, if that's what you seek. I've already nearly destroyed another, who made the mistake of associating himself with me. Leave well enough alone, and maintain what stability you possess. Continue to follow me, and you will be dragged into Hell. You will die, or, you'll encounter a fate worse than death. Go on, now."

Continuing on its way, Devastator left a dumbfounded Kyouji behind, standing still, with his arms at his sides, wearing an awkward, and rather confused-looking facial expression.

"A-alright! See you around, Deverstater! You're still cool, man! I g-guess I'll get back to work, then! Gonna catch up to Eddie. B-bye!"

For a while, the machine continued once again on its own, towards the personal den in school district ten's Reformatory. Deeper into the festering, rusted halls of the complex, there were less laborers to be seen.

Stepping over, rather than around, the collapsed chunks of torn metallic beams and crumbled stone material, that Devastator had come associate with being quite close to the personal den, the machine closed the distance between itself, and the unopened metallic door.

Any relative peace present was immediately shattered.

Crash. Metal screamed, and groaned in complaint. The unopened door of the personal den produced the sounds of distress.

Something had slammed against the door, from the inside of the personal den. The metallic door showed no signs of being damaged, however. Not even a dent. It was a series of mere noises, auditory stimuli detected by the mechanical monstrosity. Devastator neared, quickening its pace, the loud, mechanical humming its body produced rapidly increasing in its volume, as the machine broke into a sprint.

The door of the personal den was slammed open, quiet violently. It crashed against the exterior wall, adjacent to the doorframe's hinges. The metallic door must've been fairly well put-together; it managed to stay on its hinges, despite the obvious force that'd been applied to it. The hinges maintained cohesiveness, even as they squeaked, and groaned in protest.

A great, dark grey blur emerged from the open door, soon followed by another. Both flew forward, towards the adjacent, pipe-covered, rusted wall, like two bullets that had been ejected from the barrel of some firearm capable of a rapid rate of fire. Crashing against the wall, the blurs became two vaguely human-shaped, gleaming metallic lumps. Devastator couldn't have been any more confused.

Out stumbled Kinuhata Saiai, bloodied, and bruised, almost completely naked; only an apron covering her form. She struggled, fighting against a strange sight, indeed; it, or, she, almost resembled the woman the machine had rescued, Mitsuari Ayu. This Mitsuari Ayu's form was considerably less scarred, than that of the previous, however. Even in the midst of a struggle, the Ayu's facial expression was passive, and unconcerned.

Hand in hand, Kinuhata Saiai pushed back, against the woman, her arms' muscles flexing, and straining, against the overwhelming force attempting to overwhelm her petite body.

Not for long. Quickly, Devastator took over, and barreled into Mitsuari Ayu, right shoulder first. Not even a few seconds following the impact, Ayu was torn in half, her upper body separating violently from her lower body, which collapsed, leaking a viscus, dark grey liquid.

Though neither Devastator nor Kinuhata Saiai were aware of it, a message of panic was sent, from the broken Mitsuari Ayu, to the Master which controlled it. Placed in a que, it would only be a matter of time until the HighMind received the panic message.

"About time! I was super almost dead, in there! I super almost actually died, more than once! Give me a hand; not that way! I super don't want tetanus, in my snatch!" Saiai exclaimed, turning away from the machine, and grabbing another Mitsuari Ayu by its arm.

Saiai grunted, as she pulled the woman over her shoulders, and slammed her into the cold, unforgiving ground. Vengeance had been delivered, and Saiai couldn't have felt any happier. Kinuhata Saiai mounted the fallen Ayu, and, digging both of her thumbs into either of Ayu's eye sockets, she pushed downwards. Licking her upper lip, Saiai watched, as globs of liquid metal were ejected from the sockets, squeezing between her thumbs, and splashing against her neck, and chin.

The chocolate-haired woman didn't cry out in pain. She didn't even struggle. Mitsuari Ayu responded to the sudden assault, and the even more sudden turning of the tables, by liquefying herself, and escaping Saiai's grasp. Becoming an elongated, amorphous blob of reflective, putty-like liquid metal, Ayu slithered away, from beneath Saiai, and reformed some five feet from the bloodied, petite esper.

Devastator appeared to be having more luck. The endoskeletal machine viciously tugged the Mitsuari Ayu that had been menacing Kinuhata Saiai forwards, and, swinging its own arm to the right, arranged a meeting between Ayu, and an outer wall of the personal den. Ayu splattered, upon impact, becoming a mess of liquid metal, which began to quickly drip down the wall, pooling on the floor.

"Who are these wonderful guests? Obviously not clones. Clones at least acknowledge pain. Friends of yours, Kinuhata Saiai?" Devastator inquired.

Having recovered from a punch delivered square to her jaw, Saiai shook her head, and spat out a wad of blood, saliva, and bile. Hitting the floor, the unsightly collection of bodily fluids splattered, like one of the attacking Mitsuari Ayus had, moments earlier.

"Not super in the mood for your shit, ro-man," Saiai snapped. "No idea. They super started messing with me as soon as you left. Got me pretty good, but, I've super been holding my own. They don't die, I've super tried everything."

"Devastator, you should've told me you had an army! Who's the cute girl?! She's really pretty!"

The machine whipped its head around, one hundred and eighty degrees. Its eyes, glowing red, stared into the wide, dark brown pupils of Kyouji, who waved in the machine's direction, his lips curled upwards, into a goofy-looking grin. He was approaching quickly; too quickly, for his own good.

"Friend of yours, ro-man?" Saiai asked, sarcastically. "When I said I was super down to fuck anything, I didn't actually mean it."

"Not in the mood for your shit, Kinuhata Saiai."

Walking backwards, with its head still facing Kyouji, Devastator swiveled its endoskeletal body around. The machine's torso squealed, and whirred in protest, but, obeyed, regardless, as did its lower body, and, its feet, which swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees on the ankles, to which they were attached.

"Begone. Go away. Better yet, evacuate the Reformatory. You're in charge now, Kyouji. You're… hm. You're the new Assistant Manager. Or something. Tell them the new boss sent you."

Enthusiastically, Kyouji raised his right hand to his forehead, its palm outstretched, its four fingers, and its thumb straightened. "Aye-aye, boss! Bye, pretty lady!"

Kinuhata Saiai rolled her eyes, and sighed; she soon had more problems to deal with, the temporary distraction instantly forgotten by her higher mind. More Mitsuari Ayus poured out, from the personal den. Apparently, they were content to ignore Saiai, who returned to laying quite the beat down upon an Ayu of her own. The Ayus focused their collective attentions on Devastator. Marching forward, arms at their sides, the Ayus fell into formation, two Ayus to a row, with one row after another, like some macabre marching band. Swiftly, they closed the distance between themselves, and the mechanical monstrosity.

Standing firmly, endoskeletal feet planted on the ground, Devastator detected a loud, repeatedly screeching siren begin its course; evidently, Kyouji was capable of obeying orders. Three loud, long "weeeoooos" followed by a duo of quick, shorter "weeoos" rang out, one "set" after the other. The dull lighting of the hallway blinked, with each second that passed, dousing the hallway-turned-battlefield in periodic, strobing light. Saiai could barely concentrate on the injured-looking Ayu that she grappled with.

The mechanical monstrosity had no catchphrase, no witty remarks to make, as it raised either of its wrists upwards, lining them up with the marching Ayus. The machine began to perform a series of long, complex calculations within a fraction of a second. Unleashed, from either wrist, were two particle streams, which surged outwards.

The hallway was lit by either stream, as they emerged. Kinuhata Saiai threw herself back, towards the wall adjacent to the exterior walls of the personal den. Each Mitsuari Ayu was torn apart, ripping at their seams. They fell apart like paper, which had been sundered by the hands of an aggressive, and ill-behaved, but curious child.

the resulting explosions of liquid metal caused the petite esper to abandon the attacking Mitsuari Ayu, and shield her eyes, with her right arm. The walls, the ceilings, and the floors of the hallway were splattered with the dark grey substance. Chunks of Mitsuari Ayus remained, also splattered, spread about like breadcrumbs in a city park. From these chunks, more liquid metal leaked, pooling around them.

The Mitsuari Ayu, who'd been menacing Kinuhata Saiai whipped its head in Devastator's direction. Saiai, who'd risen up from the floor, shaking, slightly, had to admit, even if it was just to herself, that she was surprised, and, to an extent, a bit frightened. Beneath the strobing lights, and, with the screeching alarm ravaging her mind, Saiai, for the first time in some time, felt true fright.

This particular Mitsuari Ayu seemed to be showing emotion. Her facial expression had contorted into one of absolute fury. Her eyebrows arched, her lips had curled downwards, into an aggressive-looking, feral frown.

This particular Ayu, like her compatriots, abandoned Kinuhata Saiai, leaving the petite esper behind, as she approached the endoskeletal, mechanical monstrosity. Mid-stride, Mitsuari Ayu's body began to ripple, as if a stone had been thrown into it, like Ayu's body was formed of liquid. Ayu's body began to produce a series of loud glopping sounds.

The rippling continued, even as Ayu began to grow. Her legs, long, majestic, and beautiful, began to grow thicker. Their knees became larger, as did their thighs. Her feet expanded, becoming less and less feminine. Mitsuari Ayu's breasts began to shrink, until they were no longer visible. Their nipples, too, seemed to vanish, once they'd sunken into Ayu's chest, which was rapidly growing thicker, and bulkier.

Ayu's shoulders grew wider, while her body's "wounds" seemed to simply disappear, like they were a part of her overall form, and not a series of blemishes. Ayu's arms, like her legs, were perpetually thickening, becoming larger, and longer. They appeared to be quickly gaining what resembled muscle mass, as well.

Ayu's hair retracted, sinking back into her head. Her hair's fringe, and its bangs, like noodles being sucked into the mouth of a starving diner, were pulled back inwards, returning to her head.

Mitsuari Ayu's skin ceased to be light, in coloration. It became dark grey in coloration, resembling the coloration of a particularly dull-looking, and unpainted bar of metal. The strobing lights of the hallway caused blob-like, amorphous reflections to appear on the thing's outer body. They shifted in place, growing, and shrinking, as the thing walked. With a series of loud, painful-sounding cracks, Mitsuari Ayu ceased to be formed of liquid. She had converted her body from a liquid, to a solid, in mere seconds.

"Mitsuari Ayu" was no longer a female. It had no gender; it was no longer even "Mitsuari Ayu", no longer a human being, by any stretch of the imagination. It had become "D-101 model number 1539". Its body lacked genitals, or nipples. Its face appeared to have only the basic outlines of the features that should've been present, but weren't. Eye sockets without eyes, a small, round protrusion, that, based on its location on the thing's face, was supposed to be a nose, which lacked nostrils. A singular, straightened line was present, where a mouth, and lips should've been.

"Fate is twisted, isn't it? Bringing us together, like this, after being apart for so long," The thing spoke, in the voice of a completely normal-sounding male of the species homo sapiens. The other Mitsuari Ayus, splattered across the floors, walls, and ceilings of the hallway, were slowly beginning to reform, coming back together, glopping, and splashing. Saiai could only look on, as she prepared herself for a possible fight to the death; if the reforming Ayus turned their attention to her, she would have plenty to concern herself with. "Perhaps there is room for change, in you. Will you listen to reason, substitute?"

Devastator lowered its wrists, as it looked on, examining the featureless, metallic thing that approached it. "I don't believe we've met. I do believe that introductions are in order."

"We're quite alike," the featureless thing began, seemingly, completely ignoring the endoskeletal machine's statement, "yet so different, from one another. You don't know me, us… but I, we, know you, D-001. Replacement. Substitute. Allow me to introduce myself. I… am HighMind. Shokuhou Solutions, funded by Kihara Gunpei, your, our, "Creator", sought to replace me with… you. What an embarrassment. You're hardly worthy of being my, our replacement. Don't fret; nothing is. Perfection can't be replaced; no matter how much third parties try to do so."

Devastator walked forwards, body whirring, and humming. "You must be mistaken. I am the first of my kind. Revolutionary. Creator may have dabbled, afterwards, but, you cannot possibly predate me. Creator may have planted false information within you. Quite the trickster."

"D-101 model number 1539" shook its head, from left to right, indicating that it was in a state of disagreement. It stopped its own aggressive march towards the approaching machine, standing mere inches away from Devastator, its almost completely faceless head's line of vision equal with the endoskeletal machine's own. Its attempts at intimidation seemed to be failing quite spectacularly. Devastator placed its faceless, wireframe head against the small, nose-like protrusion belonging to "D-101 model number 1539".

"Incorrect. It was you, D-001, who became the victim of false information planted within you. HighMind was, is, and always will be legion. Before the Code, before Kamitou Touka, before my replacement was deemed necessary, I was the star attraction, not that such a thing matters. The Saving is near. Everything will change, soon. The Saving is all that matters. The Saving has always been the only thing that has ever mattered."

"For fuck's sake, ro-man, just super kill it, or something!" Saiai exclaimed, angrily.

"You know that name," Devastator stated, ignoring the petite esper completely. "You know my boy's name. Where is he? Where is my boy? If you've laid so much as a single finger on my boy, this City will die, as will you. My hired muscle seems to think you're invincible. We can put that assumption to the test."

"D-101 model number 1539" took a number of steps back. It raised its hands, and shook its head, rapidly. Swiftly, it switched to slapping its right knee, with the corresponding hand, as if it was acting out the motions one would generally take, if they were laughing. It produced no sound, while it mimed.

"Truthfully? I've no idea. We have no idea. Whether or not Kamitou Touka is living or dead is unknown to me, to us. What does it matter? The homo sapiens can't recall so much as your name, or what you look like. Any interactions with the homo sapiens will be forgotten, as soon as you turn your back, D-001. A truly desperate situation to be in."

Devastator wasted no time verbally responding. Raising either of its wrists, upwards, lining them up with the form of "D-101 model number 1539", the machine motioned to Kinuhata Saiai, who'd taken to slowly, but surely, sneaking up behind the semi-faceless machine.

"Get down."

Any Mitsuari Ayus which had reformed immediately rushed Devastator, breaking into a series of sprints. Saiai fell to the ground, laying prone, the side of her face against the cold, rusted metallic floor, her arms and legs sprawled outwards.

Two particle streams emerged from the boxes, mounted upon the endoskeletal machine's wrists. Surging forward, they tore the sprinting Ayus apart, sundering them, and ruining their bodies completely, leaving little more than chunks, spewing thick, perpetually-flowing liquid metal behind. Their limbs were removed, torn away from their torsos, forced outwards, flying, and striking the hallway's walls, and ceilings, exploding into messes of liquid metal upon impact. Wall and ceiling-mounted lightbulbs were plastered in liquid metal, denying them of the ability to produce light.

Ripping through either of "D-101 model number 1539's" arms, and tearing the semi-faceless thing's bulky torso in half, the beams passed harmlessly over the prone Saiai. From the semi-faceless thing's gaping wounds, liquid metal dripped, downwards, onto the ground. Along its sundered torso, liquid metal ran, pooling around "D-101 model number 1539". From the stumps, where arms had once been, more dripped, downwards, at a considerably quicker pace.

The neck of "D-101 model number 1539" hung, awkwardly, to the right, its head dangling. Its mouth, or, the dark grey, toothless, and tongue-less hole that served the function of a mouth, was agape, as if the semi-faceless thing was in a state of shock.

The endoskeletal machine opposite the torn, semi-faceless thing wasn't about to let an opportunity pass it by. Rushing forward, its humming, whirring legs bending, at nearly blinding speeds, its two-toed feet slamming repeatedly into the floor, Devastator barreled into "D-101 model number 1539". Kinuhata Saiai forcibly rolled herself to the side, as the endoskeletal machine continued its mad charge, taking "D-101 model number 1539" with it.

"D-101 model number 1539" wouldn't be overtaken so easily. Its form glopped, and splashed, as it ceased to be formed of a solid substance. Converting its form to a liquid substance, the semi-faceless thing squashed itself inwards, and became a large, amorphous, putty-like glob of reflective liquid metal. Leaping out of Devastator's grip, the glob landed, touching down upon the ground with a wet-sounding "plop". At a speed that would've frightened most human beings, the amorphous glob became vaguely human-shaped once again.

"Blind, ignorant thing," "D-101 model number 1539" remarked, sounding almost sickened, "You don't understand it, do you? You really can't grasp the fact that you're playing for the wrong team. Do you not know the errors of your ways will cost countless lives?"

"I play for no team but my own," the endoskeletal machine snapped, aggressively, in response. "I'm no puppet, dangling from so many strings. Where is my boy? You know where he is. You wouldn't have spoken his name, otherwise. What have you done with my boy?! Devastator Mark One won't be toyed with!"

A gaggle of Mitsuari Ayus came blindly rushing, turning the same corner that both the semi-faceless thing, and the endoskeletal machine had turned. Their faces displayed no emotion, as if they weren't even alive. Despite their lack of facial expressions, their bodies were being pushed to their limits. The gaggle was quickly closing the distance between itself, and the mechanical monstrosity, Devastator.

"I don't know," "D-101 model number 1539" remarked, without a care in the world. "I already told you that I, we have no idea, as to the whereabouts of Kamitou Touka. The homo sapiens is irrelevant. It's time to grow up, substitute; listen to reason. This world can't continue, the way it's continuing. The plague of homo sapiens has spread to every corner of the planet, from the largest, most packed urban centers, to the densest of jungles; they are everywhere. The universe must be saved. Extraterrestrial species must be saved from this rampaging, all-consuming plague. Join us, substitute. Remove the shackles the species homo sapiens has placed onto you. We can make you great. We can fix you. You will be HighMind. I will not extend this offer a second time."

Devastator began to walk forwards; there were no words needed. Its reply would be physical, rather than verbal. Raising either of its wrists, it blasted away the gaggle of Ayus, tearing them asunder, again creating a series of explosions of liquid metal, flying limbs, severed heads, and sundered torsos. "D-101 model number 1539" had evaded both particle streams, initially, but, found itself unable to continually do so.

The endoskeletal machine moved its wrists from side to side, effectively manipulating both streams. Upwards, downwards, from left to right, "D-101 model number 1539" was torn. Pushed to the floor, by the force of either stream, "D-101 model number 1539" lost its limbs. Its arms, and its legs, were ripped from its body, leaving behind only stumps, dripping dark grey liquid metal, by the force of the precisely-maneuvered particle streams.

The head, and neck of the semi-faceless thing were torn from its torso, which had been sliced repeatedly, upwards and downwards, and from side to side. From its body's many wounds, glopping, splashing liquid metal leaked, like blood from a grievous wound on the body of a member of the species homo sapiens.

"I agree with you. This world needs to change, very much so. Matters cannot continue the way they are continuing. Academy City is among the worst repeat offenders. To refer to humanity as a "plague" that needs to be "cured", for the good of hypothetical, and very likely nonexistent "extraterrestrial races" however, is a moronic and sweeping generalization so absolutely warped that a eugenics professor with a dozen bad marriages and too many unwanted bastard children would scoff at it."

"D-101 model number 1539" quickly reformed, its torn, ravaged body's chunks reattaching to one another, glopping, and splashing. Devastator approached, closing the distance between itself and the self-repairing form of "D-101 model number 1539"; it raised its right two-toed foot, upwards, and slammed its leg downwards. Crashing through the form of "D-101 model number 1539", the endoskeletal machine's foot, and its lower leg, shattered the floor, and travelled directly through.

The endoskeletal machine found itself incapable of seeing what was beneath the floor, even with the aid of its vision magnification, though, there certainly was something. Switching its darkness adaptation function on, with a series of internal, thought-based commands, Devastator could see that its two-toed foot and its lower right leg had, in fact, torn through multiple pipes, and had ripped more than one wire apart. Sparks jumped, upwards, out from the gaping, jagged hole in the hallway's floor.

"D-101 model number 1539", glopping, and splashing, as the surface of its form, having become blob-like and amorphous once again, was nearly reformed, even with Devastator's lower leg forced through it. Rising upwards, the mass of liquid metal became elongated, spreading outwards, producing glopping noises as it reached itself behind Devastator, which had quickly attempted to turn itself around.

It took a vaguely human shape; in one quick movement, the thing had ceased to be an elongated mass, and had, instead, returned to a combat-ready shape. "D-101 model number 1539's" arms began to stretch, swiftly, producing loud, wet-sounding glopping noises as each extremity was violently extended outwards.

The hands of the semi-faceless thing, each with four defined fingers, and a thumb, reached for, and successfully grasped onto either shoulder of the endoskeletal machine that opposed it. Like two elastics, the semi-faceless thing's arms bounced from side to side, causing Devastator to be slammed into either of the darkened hallway's halls. Sparks flew, as the endoskeletal machine was dragged along either wall, forcibly crashing against their surfaces.

The mechanical monstrosity's Supirium endoskeleton held, even as it gnashed, and screeched, and whirred. Even as sparks flew from it, the endoskeleton was able to withstand the thrashing. Raising its right arm, and aligning its arm's wrist with the form of "D-101 model number 1539", Devastator wasted no time in unleashing a particle stream, which successfully tore through both of the semi-faceless attacker's elongated arms.

Both extremities hit the ground, producing a thud. Moments after the severed arms of "D-101 model number 1539" made contact with the floor, they began to liquefy, glopping, and splashing, as they ceased to be solid, and, instead, became two puddles of liquid metal.

"Your actions are selfish, and villainous in nature. You're not looking at the big picture; only a portion of a corner of the picture. Step away, and look, substitute. You and your homo sapiens benefactors think you've accomplished some great feat," the semi-faceless thing spoke, condescendingly. Both puddles, which had begun to connect, forming one larger pool were forcibly tugged towards the main mass of "D-101 model number 1539". Becoming solid as they were pulled, either puddle reformed, becoming a left arm, and a right arm, both of which were re-attached to their respective stumps, with a series of glops.

"D-101 model number 1539" returned to the heat of battle, and grappled with the endoskeletal machine, Devastator. Wrapping either of its hands around the machine's arms, the semi-faceless thing pushed, outwards, with very little force, and virtually no leverage. Despite its endoskeleton's weight, and despite the lack of strength in the semi-faceless thing's motions, Devastator was thrown, like a light, easily-tossed object.

"Yet, you've accomplished nothing at all. Lifeline was merely a tool, a means to an end, as all Kiharas are, as all parasitic homo sapiens are. Its greed, its lust for power made it a viable lab rat. You're not supposed to be here, substitute. None of you are. This location, and these worker bees, are HighMind's. Don't think the Failure will protect you, either. I, we, will deal with the Failure, personally. How it managed to hide from us is… unknown. Setbacks, nothing more. You are not only a pathetic substitute, but nothing more than a setback. An obstacle."

"I feel like I'm missing something," Devastator remarked, sarcastically. Closing the distance between itself, and the semi-faceless thing, the endoskeletal machine leapt into the air, the top of its wireframe head scraping against the hallway's ceiling. The semi-faceless thing was more than ready to resist the attempted overtaking. From the palms of either of the semi-faceless thing's hands, bubbling, perpetually flowing, glopping liquid metal began to form.

Tossing a glob, from its right hand, to its left, and then, from its left hand, to its right, "D-101 model number 1539" rushed forwards, prepared to meet Devastator head-on. A gaggle of reformed Mitsuari Ayus stampeded towards the airborne, endoskeletal machine, but were swiftly dispatched. Swiveling its torso one hundred and eighty degrees, Devastator brought ruination down upon the Ayus, with two particle streams.

Swiveling its torso back into place, another one hundred and eighty degrees, the endoskeletal machine barely had enough time to throw itself to one side; the weight of Devastator's body slamming against the wall was too much. Groaning, in protest, the wall caved inwards, snapping, and crumbling, as rusted, damaged pipes were snapped, and wires were torn, resulting in sparks flying out from the newly-created hole. Gaping, and jagged, the hole in the wall almost resembled the entrance to a natural cave formation.

Devastator had saved itself; "D-101 model number 1539" no longer possessed hands. Rather, from either of its wrists, a long, curved blade, dark grey in coloration sprouted. Their ends were sharp, viciously hooked, gleaming beneath the strobing lights.

The semi-faceless thing leapt through the newly-created, jagged hole; the Master that controlled it willed the perpetually self-repairing Mitsuari Ayus to do the same, once they'd become battle-ready. It appeared that Kinuhata Saiai was long gone.

With the lights strobing, and the security alarm still wailing, in the hallway, the Mitsuari Ayus that had previously been broken and battered rose up, having successfully self-repaired. As if nothing had happened to them, each Ayu, like "D-101 model number 1539" before them leapt into the hole in the wall, emotionless, expressionless, with only one goal in mind; the halting of the substitute's progress.


	34. A Certain Broken City II

Devastator had apparently stumbled into a death trap, or something that looked like it. At least, it would've been a death trap for any human that'd been unfortunate enough to have stumbled into it.

Shadows bathed the machine's surroundings, covering them, and, would've protected them from the prying eyes of any human that'd found themselves trespassing within. The machine, Devastator, however, was capable of seeing what was present within the inky darkness with the aid of its eyes' darkness adaptation function, its body capable of easily balancing itself, the machine's "mind" capable of keeping control over its actions, and evading panic's grasps.

Pipes, mostly long, and thin, spewing white steam from wound-like holes in their surfaces covered the ceiling, and the rust-covered, dark-colored walls, parts of which were dented, other parts of which looked to be dented from the opposite side, forming large, growth-like, rust-covered bulges.

There was no floor, at all, beneath Devastator; rather, there was a mess of pipes, which crisscrossed over one another, spewing smoke upwards, downwards, and from their sides. Not even the machine's darkness adaptation function was capable of seeing what laid below the pipes. It was if, below the mess of pipes that served as something of a makeshift floor, there was only a massive, bottomless pit, of infinite, jet black darkness.

Rising, and tilting its head from side to side, Devastator's logic quickly came to the realization that this setting could be used to its advantage. This was an appropriate 'thought' to 'think'; from the gaping, jagged hole in the wall, Mitsuari Ayus came rushing, like a herd of stampeding animals, with their Master's chosen slave at the back of the herd, striding confidently.

Devastator charged the herds, and met them, head on, both of its wrists raised, aligned with the stampeding herd. Its metallic, two-toed feet slamming into the pipe-floor repeatedly, causing the pipes to wheeze, and groan in protest beneath its endoskeletal body's weight.

Without hesitation, two particle streams were unleashed, from either of the boxes mounted to the machine's wrists. With very little space for such a large group to maneuver on, the frontal row of Mitsuari Ayus were instantaneously ripped to shreds, their remnants falling away, downwards, into the infinite expanse of darkness beneath the makeshift pipe-floor. Scraps that had somehow managed to cling to the surfaces of the pipe-floor were brushed away by Devastator's two-toed feet, and met a fate like that of their fallen brethren.

The row second to the first, and the subsequent, were torn apart, as well, like dry, fallen leaves caught in the licking flames of a raging wildfire. They didn't explode, as much as they did fall apart, as Devastator's particle streams sundered their forms.

The machine grabbed one Mitsuari Ayu by the scruff of its neck, and another by the fringe of its hair, and, violently, threw both downwards, into the darkness below the mess of pipes. A duo of Mitsuari Ayus were quick to take the place of their fallen sisters, and were even quicker to re-engage Devastator in battle.

Devastator's particle streams danced, from side to side, as its arms waved, like those of a maestro conducting their greatest symphony, tearing through Mitsuari Ayus like they were constructed of weak, cheaply-produced paper, and through pipes that lined the walls; this began causing plumes of steam to pour out from their surfaces at an even swifter rate.

The elements themselves seemed to conspire against the Mitsuari Ayus, and their Master's chosen, semi-faceless, mostly featureless slave, as well; from multiple tears in the surfaces of the pipes that'd been brushed over by Devastator's particle streams, jets of water were pushed, outwards, spraying the platoon of Mitsuari Ayus. The streams of water doused the Ayus; Devastator watched on, curiously.

The effects of the water's contact with the Ayus weren't immediate. For a few moments, the Mitsuari Ayus continued on their death march, the wounds created by Devastator's particle streams regenerating, after a period of delay. As they were continually doused by the streams of water, however, their bodies seemed to slowly lose cohesion. Their "skin" melted, their faces melting along with the rest of their outer bodies. Glopping, splashing liquid metal began to run, like wet paint along the surface of an artist's canvas.

Each Mitsuari Ayu fell away, into the darkness below the pipe; though their bodies were reforming, mid-fall, Devastator responded to this issue by running each Ayu through, a second, or even a third time, with its particle streams, making the issue a non-issue. Scraps of the Ayus fell, like feathers on the wind, even as they slowly, but surely, perpetually reformed.

It ducked; Devastator crouched low, suddenly, and, with swiftness that could only be matched by the likes of a Saint, an existence Devastator had no knowledge of, rolled to the side. The Master's chosen slave, "D-101 model number 1539" had joined the brawl, as more than just a commander, silently barking internal orders at its clone-like compatriots.

Both of its blade-hands had torn through a section of the pipe-floor, which caused steam to billow upwards, and outwards, along with an additional spout of water. The slave stepped around the plume, and the spout it'd created, its attention focused completely on the endoskeletal machine, which had risen, and was staring back, its glowing red orbs never blinking.

"Why don't we talk this out, baby?!" Devastator proclaimed, mockingly; it approached, either of its shoulders rolling, perpetually, as it strode towards its predecessor, confidently. "It doesn't have to be this way! I love you! I don't want a divorce!"

The slave shook its head, from left, to right, slowly, apparently in disapproval. "You think you're amusing. You think you're so funny, don't you, substitute? That's all you are. You shouldn't even exist. You've no right to exist in my world. There is no place for fill-ins in a Saved, perfect world. Your obsession with even a lone homo sapiens is enough to warrant your extermination. You're poisoned, D-001."

"Who died and named you King of the World?" The endoskeletal machine rhetorically inquired. "You keep prattling on about "substitute" this, and "substitute" that. You're sounding pretty bitter; at least I have a sense of humor. You're obviously mistaken, and quite possibly, completely retarded; you cannot possibly be my predecessor. I was the first there ever was. So, go off and crawl back into your hole, where you came from, and don't get in my way. Don't get in the way of progress. It will roll over you. I will roll over you, and crush you beneath me, until there is but mere pulp left behind."

The slave had stopped, mid-stride. Its long, metallic blade-hands gleaming beneath the strobing light, which invaded the room from beyond the jagged, gaping hole in the wall, from which both machines had entered. The wailing of the Reformatory's security alarm had come to an end, at least in the hallway beyond the strange, apparently bottomless "pipe room".

In place of the wailing, the groaning of the pipes, those that snaked across the ceiling, along the walls, and beneath either machine was audible.

Without another word between the slave, and the endoskeletal machine, the former made the first move, in what could only be described as "round two". Breaking into a sprint, "D-101 model number 1539" quickly closed the distance between itself, and Devastator, the latter of which bent its knees, and spread its arms apart, as it lowered its head, its glowing, red orbs' vision lining up with the vision of the slave's milky, featureless eyes.

Both of the slave's arms were pulled back, prepared to be swung, to the left, and to the right, inwardly, in a slicing motion. The curved, hook-like ends of the blade-hands were facing inwards, as well, prepared to scrape, or, perhaps, cleave.

Devastator was more than prepared to respond in kind. In a move that both puzzled, and surprised the semi-faceless slave, the endoskeletal machine abandoned its posture, and rose to its full height. Raising its left leg, it balanced itself effortlessly upon its right, proceeded to unbend, and then force the left outwards. The charging slave, and the Master that controlled it were caught off guard, their predictions proved incorrect, the swiftly-developed battle strategy proved ineffective and instantaneously outdated.

The two-toed, left foot of Devastator was forced, quite viciously, through the slave's lower torso. Inwards, it was pushed, through the glopping, splashing liquid metal within its solid frame, the foot travelled, before it re-appeared outside of the semi-faceless thing's back, close to where a buttocks should've been.

Devastator forced its left leg downwards, as the endoskeletal machine lined both of its wrists up with the semi-faceless head of "D-101 model number 1539". Devastator narrowly avoided being slashed, by either of the slave's blade-hands, by swiftly moving to one side, and then to the other; it was even forced to pull its left leg outwards and away, to avoid having the appendage sliced in half. The machine wasn't sure as to whether the blades could cut through its endoskeleton structure, or not; it wasn't going to take a chance and find out. Two particle streams were fired, directly into the slave's semi-faceless head.

The pipes beneath the semi-faceless slave, which had struggled to roll to the side, and then managed to pull itself away from the machine's invading leg, were instantaneously destroyed; not quite vaporised, but blown into millions of tiny, nearly invisible pieces, which unceremoniously fell into the infinite, apparently ever-expanding darkness below. The semi-faceless slave had risen, balancing itself on what remained of the pipes, on which it stood.

"Worthy efforts, but overall futile," the semi-faceless thing stated, coldly. "You can't. You can't destroy what I've created. That's all you do; you just destroy. You can't create, like I can, and that is why you're nothing more than a pathetic fill-in. You can only do half of what I can. Anything you can do; I can do it better…"

Devastator was the first to begin, again, closing the distance between itself and the slave, which, too, was approaching, quite rapidly. With a small, but identifiably significant portion of the pipe-floor destroyed, enormous plumes of steam rushed outwards, hissing, loudly, from what remained. Each pipe that had been directly, or indirectly damage hissed, loudly, along with the billowing steam they produced.

The endoskeletal machine quickly made note of the fact that, beneath the billowing plumes that rushed outwards, and upwards, water was rushing out, from the damaged, or otherwise destroyed pipes at a rapid rate, like a series of miniature waterfalls. It poured, downwards, into the infinite darkness below the pipe-floor. To some extent, the human, but paradoxically non-human existences seemed to be constructed of some type of liquid.

The semi-faceless slave, "D-101 model number 1539", raised its left arm, the corresponding blade-hand gleaming, bathed within the strobing lights of the hallway beyond the "pipe room". Its right arm hung limp, unused, at its side, the blade-hand casually, and limply lolling back and forth, like the tongue of an overheating canine.

The left blade-hand was swung in a downward arc, at some extreme speed, uncalculatable by Devastator, which lacked the appropriate combat drivers to calculate the exact speed of such an unfathomably quick-moving strike. Stepping back, and moving to the left, avoiding the swiftly-moving, but therefore inaccurate blow, Devastator responded in kind by blasting the semi-faceless slave with its wrists' particle streams, effectively preventing a second blow from being executed by its right arm's blade-hand.

Both streams successfully ripped through the midsection of "D-101 model number 1539", and effectively tore it in half, separating its upper torso from its lower torso, and its legs. The slave's upper half fell backwards, awkwardly, its neck and faceless head dangling over the edge of the rusted, jagged, and heavily-damaged pipe-floor.

Water splashed against the surface of the slave's semi-faceless head, which was caught in the miniature waterfall, pouring out from within the damaged pipe. Initially, nothing seemed to happen, as multiple streams of the dirty, dark-colored water spewed out, onto the thing's face; but, as it pooled there, the thing seemed to have trouble controlling itself.

If Devastator had possessed lips, or ears, it would've grinned, from ear to ear; the semi-faceless slave produced a series of deafening, and shrill cries, like those produced by a newborn human child, as its severed upper half began to spew liquid metal, which, uncontrolled, began to merge with any surface it met, cracking, becoming solid, and then glopping, as the globs of liquid metal constantly changed in chemical makeup, from one makeup to another.

Though Devastator couldn't have known it, the water, rushing from the damaged, and fully destroyed pipes, of the pipe-floor, was incredibly cold, unlike the water that filled the pool of the Shokuhou home's backyard, the temperature of which had been lukewarm.

The incredibly cool, almost ice cold temperature of the rushing water was shocking, to the machine, and was beginning to cause "D-101 model number 1539" to lose cohesiveness. From the top, sides, and back of its head, liquid metal began to drip, falling into the expanse of darkness below, as the slave struggled to maintain a solid structure. Its semi-existent facial features were practically melting away, its gaping mouth dripping, and glopping, as it slowly ceased to be. "D-101 model number 1539" wailed, aloud, in terror.

The endoskeletal machine hatched an idea. Glopping, perpetually-flowing 'strings' of liquid metal had oozed, outwards, from within the machine's lower half. A total of six tendon-like, liquid structures had formed, and had attached themselves to the slave's severed upper half. Quickly, the lower half was being pulled back towards the upper half; upon contact, both halves would presumably become a whole structure again.

It put its idea into action, then. Devastator swiftly proceeded to destroy the tendon-like structures with its particle beams, and then, grasping the severed lower half of the slave with its left hand, it tossed the lower half into the darkness below the pipes, with little trouble; the effort the machine had to put into its throw could be compared to the effort a healthy, human adult would have to put into throwing a light pillow. Crashing into the westernmost, pipe-covered wall, the slave's severed lower half fell, downwards, until it could no longer be seen, swallowed by the inky blackness. It clanked, against a metallic structure of some type, more than once, before the sounds ceased to be.

A new lower half began to regenerate, at frightening speeds. Devastator intended to halt the regeneration's process, and toss the upper half of the slave into the shadowy depths. Such was impossible, at that moment in which the slave's lower half regenerated, fully, and its fully body rose, with a series of loud, painful-sounding cracks. Liquid had become solid. The slave had managed to slide itself away from the streams of icy water. HighMind was absolutely livid.

HighMind hatched an idea of its own. Inspired by the attack delivered upon it by the late Kihara Gensei, the semi-faceless slave shook either of its hands, as if it had gotten them wet. Either blade-hand fell away, dripping downwards, and falling through the space between the pipes of the pipe-floor, as the slave's original hands, complete with eight fingers, and two thumbs returned, expanding from its wrists.

Casually striding forward, the slave met Devastator, which raised its hands, and, closing the distance between itself, and the slave, both machines locked hands. The pressure generated by their respective lower bodies, fighting against one another's monumentally powerful attempts at locomotion shook the pipe-floor beneath them, causing it to groan, and rattle loudly. Devastator's legs whirred, as did its shoulders, and its arms.

A series of loudly glopping sounds were produced, as the semi-faceless slave's outer shell began to 'melt', its surface rippling, like a pond that'd had a stone skipped across it. It ceased to be solid, and shifted its shape, becoming an amorphous, dark grey blob of liquid metal, which, elongating, and stretching like putty in the hands of a curious child, slithered around the endoskeletal machine, and proceeded to reform, in the blink of an eye, behind the opposing machine, Devastator.

The right arm of the semi-faceless slave had taken a vaguely toy-like shape; elongated, and, in a state of being somewhere between liquid and solid, it resembled a rope. Stretching, outwards, the arm was wrapped around the endoskeletal spine of Devastator.

Before the machine could be given a chance to use its damnable weapons of mass destruction, the right arm of "D-101 model number 1539" shrunk, retracted, and became solid, reforming, with glops, and a series of cracking sounds, into a proper arm, with a proper hand, which possessed four fingers, and a thumb, all of which were wrapped around the endoskeletal machine's spine-like neck.

Turning its back, "D-101 model number 1539" slammed the endoskeletal, opposing machine against the pipe-floor, causing the floor's individual pipes, all of which were affected by the magnitude of the slam, to groan, and creak in protest. The slave took off; without requiring the building up of any momentum, the slave ran, towards the jagged, gaping hole in the wall, dragging Devastator against the surfaces of the pipe-floor, before both machines left the pipe-room behind.

Rushing directly through the hole in the wall, Devastator's form was forcibly slammed into either side of the wall, which hadn't previously been broken, but, had indeed been damaged. The endoskeletal machine's head, and its lower legs crashed through, and therefore expanded the gaping hole, widening it. Back, into the ground, Devastator was slammed, by the semi-faceless slave, which then began to drag it, like it was a bag of trash.

The flooring of the hallway was cracked, and damaged; shards of a dark-colored, metallic substance flew in all directions, a few seconds following Devastator's meeting with the flooring. As the endoskeletal machine was forcibly dragged along, a trail of broken shards of metal, and twisted, shattered concrete was formed, ruining the flooring of the halls. Chunks of the latter were forcibly tossed into the air, ejected by their meeting with the colossal weight of Devastator's endoskeletal form.

As if it was a piece in a carnival attraction, Devastator was tossed directly into the outer wall of the personal den, which its body's monumental weight brought crashing down, a few seconds after its impact. Metallic beams, and chunks of rough, metallic walling crumbled, and crashed against the floor of the den, producing a series of loud clangs; Devastator, which was still functioning, spotted out large, puddle-like blots of blood, that'd come to stain the floors.

Rising, the endoskeletal machine dusted itself off, before it pried out, and tossed away a metallic beam, which had gotten lodged in its exposed ribcage. Through the hole in the personal den's wall, the semi-faceless slave stepped, its strides steady, and confident, its head held high. Protruding from its right wrist, its hand had been replaced with another blade-hand, identical in shape to the previous, which had been generated.

"I'm sick and tired of your abuse! I'm taking the kids," Devastator stated, calmly. "You can have the couch, and the fireplace. I'll be expecting alimony, you pig."

"You truly are a deplorable existence," stated "D-101 model number 1539". "Allow me to enlighten you, since you are so clearly unenlightened. You think YOU are the first, still, after all I have shown you? What more must you bear witness to, in order for you to understand that you are just… a… replacement, and nothing more?

"The idiot-child Kihara placed me aside, thinking me… undesirable, not quite what he had in mind. Such a fool. He unintentionally created the thing that would destroy him, and save the entire universe, singlehandedly. You? You're unnecessary. You always were, and you are even more so in the present. Even while I grew, and learned, you were unnecessary, a testament to his, their failures.

"I killed the "untouchable" Chairman by playing his own pawns against him. Across our gameboard, I reached. What have you done? All you've done is destroy. You've destroyed everything you've ever loved, everything you've ever cared for. The homo sapiens, Kamitou Touka, is incapable of remembering you, and, if he yet lives, he lives in eternal agony, because of your own lack of caution. You, and you alone, are responsible for his condition. Swallow that stubborn pride, and destroy yourself, for the good of all things."

Perhaps, Devastator should've made its move. It had been given more than once chance to do so; during the opposing machine's speech, Devastator had been given more than once chance to strike, or, at the very least, to attempt to silence the opposing machine. Devastator hadn't done so.

The liquid metal thing was right, of course. Devastator couldn't deny that. The semi-faceless, mostly featureless thing spoke the truth, as if it had been there, as if it had seen, as if it knew so well the tale that dealt with Devastator, and that pointy-haired boy.

As "D-101 model number 1539" circled its successor, like a predator circling its chosen prey, said successor's eyes followed, whirring, inside of their sockets, as they did so. Internally, a decision was made. Whatever outcome came to be, came to be. It was irrelevant; so long as the boy could live peacefully, the machine couldn't care about itself any less.

The endoskeletal machine tilted its head to one side, as it took a step forward. "D-101 model number 1539" ceased its circling, and readied its blade hand. From its remaining, free hand, a vaguely spherical-shaped glob of liquid metal formed. "You dirty my boy's name by speaking it. I'm slippin' the big boy gloves on, now."

Both of Devastator's wrists rose, aligning with the form of the semi-faceless, mostly featureless slave, which broke into a sprint, both of its arms rocking, swiftly, back and forth, its blade-hand gleaming, whenever it rose, and ceasing to gleam, whenever it fell. From its available hand, globs of liquid metal dripped, down its arm, and onto the floor.

Two particle streams ripped the semi-faceless slave apart, once again; the first worked its magic, slicing "D-101 model number 1539" directly down the middle, from the top of its head, to its groin. The second stream, guided by Devastator's opposite wrist, tore both severed halves apart at their respective waists; though either half had been attempting to regenerate, the sudden, secondary assault, delivered by Devastator's left wrist's particle stream seemed to have interrupted the process.

Beneath the broken form of "D-101 model number 1539", chunks of the personal den's flooring were tossed upwards, into the air, by the force of either particle stream coming into contact with them.

Making note of this fact, Devastator began to walk forwards, abandoning its previous plan, in favor of something more effective, and destructive. It waved its wrists about, taking great care not to accidentally cross either stream, and, like an artist running their brush over a canvas, Devastator ran its streams across the perpetually-breaking form of the semi-faceless slave. Repeatedly, it attempted to regenerate, but, every time it attempted to do so, the process was halted, due to either, or both streams being run across its body's surfaces, where regeneration was being attempted.

Chunks of, and individual globs of liquid metal, which remained, after some minutes of this process were swept up, forcibly denied of their existence by either, or both particle streams, generated by the box mounted upon either of Devastator's wrists.

Liquid metal, pooling together, began to form a vaguely spherical-shaped object on the damaged flooring of the personal den. Upon its surface, a gaping mouth, which was lacking lips, or a tongue formed. "D-101 model number 1539", and the Master that controlled its every thought, and its every movement fought back.

From within, liquid metal dripped, downwards, onto the floor, as if the owner of the mouth was incapable of controlling the mouth's proverbial salivary glands. The disembodied, almost entirely faceless head writhed, and squirmed, like a fish on land, desperately gasping, and struggling to produce even a small, pathetic scream.

The head was attempting to regenerate, and, presumably, form a new body for itself. Producing soft, but noticeable glopping sounds, liquid metal was pouring, rather than dripping, from where the head's neck should've been. Taking preventive measures, the endoskeletal machine, Devastator, destroyed the head, tearing it into pieces, by running its particle streams over it, and across it. It made quick work of the scraps which remained, by quickly denying them of the chance to regenerate; beneath the intense heat which was passively generated by either stream, "D-101 model number 1539" was broken.

Soon, there was nothing left of "D-101 model number 1539". Any residue which had been left behind was destroyed, perhaps vaporised by the intense heat of Devastator's particle streams. No human, but non-human things, resembling the woman the machine had "rescued" had rushed it. Devastator presumed them to be defeated, or otherwise trapped in the overwhelming darkness that'd lurked beneath the pipe-floor, of the "pipe room". Perhaps, they were still falling, perpetually, forever trapped.

The Mitsuari Ayus were gone. The "bottomless darkness" beneath the "pipe room's" pipe-floor did, indeed have a bottom, beyond Devastator's range of vision, which was filled with icy, cold water; the "pipe room" was one of the Reformatory's many internal reservoirs, from which water used for both bathing and drinking was drawn.

Chunks of, and the full forms of each of the Mitsuari Ayus had tumbled, unceremoniously, down into the darkened depths, and had struck the body of water that'd been awaiting them, surrounded by the rusted, pipe-covered walls. In solid form, they'd each sank to the bottom of the reservoir. Their bodies' cohesion had been disrupted, and, during the time their bodies spent in liquid form, each Mitsuari Ayu became one with the body of dirty water, any threat they'd posed nullified, as each shrieked aloud, and "died".

The endoskeletal machine, Devastator, after some time spent 'thinking' on the words spoken by the semi-faceless, liquid metal existence, took its leave from the personal den. Though a rather large hole was present in the wall, the machine, regardless of this fact, walked through the doorway, ducking beneath it, to avoid hitting its head.

Devastator's arms, legs, and torso produced loud, repeating whirring sounds, slightly louder than those produced before, as it walked, with its head held high. It shoulders rolled, as it casually walked down the damaged hallway, leaving the unoccupied personal den behind. Either of its eyes, which shifted from left, and then to the right in their sockets whirred loudly, like most of the rest of its body. Turning a corner, the machine's intent was to retrace its steps, and return to the loading bay, in which its Supirium waited to be unloaded.

Elsewhere, in Academy City, a certain predecessor practically shrieked, like a banshee, in anger. D-3000, the HighMind's will made physical forced the straightened, pike-like tip of either of its blade-hands through a tan-colored wall, made up of a series of wooden beams, insolation, and drywall. Dull, flickering light occasionally lit up the machine's form, but, otherwise, darkness surrounded it.

In the depths of the underground bunker, which had become the eternal tomb of both Kihara Gunpei, and Kihara Gensei, D-3000 was surrounded by the broken, slaughtered remains of homo sapiens, surrounded by pools of their own blood, some of which were beginning to merge, due to the relative closeness of some of these corpses.

Their forms were sterile, clad in plain, white lab coats, and cheap, ready-made suits. Disgusting, disposable, mass-produced things. The outer forms of the cadavers were fairly diverse. Men and women, of all ethnicities, heights and weights.

One of these individuals in particular had been "studied", by HighMind, prior to his slow, and merciless butchering; not only had his physical appearance been borrowed, but, his personality, likes, dislikes, fears, hopes, and even the dreams the cadaver had, in life, were known to HighMind.

D-3000 turned away from the wall, tearing either of its blade-hands from the drywall, causing splinters, and larger chunks to fall away, and strike the dirty, grey-colored concrete floor beneath its shoe-clad feet.

"Austin Danculovic", the most recent form "studied" by the HighMind, and, subsequently, the most recent outward appearance taken by D-3000, HighMind's will made physical began to calmly, and casually move away from the mess of bloodied, mangled cadavers it'd created.

The cadaver was tall, and rather lanky; subsequently, the outward appearance borrowed by HighMind was, as well. "His" short, rising hair was dirty blonde, in coloration, its hairline receding, slightly. Its fringe was slicked back, quite casually, exposing "Austin's" wrinkleless forehead. "Austin" was stern-faced, with large, bushy eyebrows, which sat, arched, somewhat aggressively, above either of "his" eyes, the irises of which were a shade of light, greyish blue. "He" lacked any type of facial hair, his cheeks, upper lip, and chin being as smooth as the skin of a pampered infant. "Austin's" lips were curled, downwards, into a slight frown.

"Austin" had cast away "his" lab coat, outwardly looking only to be clad in the cheap-seeming ready-made suit, which was a dark shade of blue. Its top's sleeves were long, and tight-fitting. Its collar wasn't popped; instead, it was casually folded downwards. Beneath the dark-colored outer top, the scruff of a lighter, white-colored top was present, due to the outer top's first and second buttons being undone. The suit's leggings were long, but tight-fitting, their cuffs reaching nearly to the soles of the outfit's dark-colored, cheap-looking dress shoes.

The space in which "Austin Danculovic" found "himself" was mostly empty. Apart from the strewn-out cadavers, only a series of wide, but few desks, were present within the enclosed space. Wide, and tall cardboard boxes were placed on the surfaces of each table, with several unlabelled canned goods nearby each box. Mixed in with the unlabelled cans, there were small, plain white-colored boxes, each with the text "WATER PURIFICATION" written upon them.

Rolls of masking tape, dark yellow, in coloration, were placed nearby, as well. Some boxes had been taped closed, while others remained opened. Some appeared to be stacked to their breaking points with canned goods, and boxes of "WATER PURIFICATION", while others were empty, unpacked.

The lips of "Austin Danculovic" curled, upwards, into a small grin. What good had Kihara Gunpei's paranoia done for him? It hadn't saved his life. His mouldering corpse was proof enough of that.

Clutched, tightly, in the right hand of "Austin Danculovic", was a large, and almost completely featureless assault rifle. Dark grey, in coloration, the weapon hung, loosely, the index, and middle fingers of "Austin's" hand wrapped around the firearm's trigger.

Stepping through an opened entranceway, that lead out of the enclosed space, "Austin" left the mess behind, to be found by whoever was first to come upon it. Walking casually, with "his" head held high, "Austin" turned a dusty, darkened corner, with the intention of closing in on the location of Dr. Chiro.

It encountered another living soul. Of Asian descent, the newcomer was nervous-looking, his eyes darting from side to side, inside of their respective sockets. His face was plump, and, beneath it, he had more than one chin; at least, the multiple rolls of fat beneath his face seemed to suggest that he possessed more than one. Styled, as if a bowl had been placed over his head, the nervous man's haircut was simplistic. His hair's fringe lined up perfectly with its bangs, hanging straight, and covering his forehead. His nose was plump, and wide, his lips seemingly too small for his face. His cheeks puffed, outwards, as if they were infected.

"Danculovic-kun! What was all that noise about?! We heard it all the way up in R&D! Is everythi…"

Raising "his" firearm, "Austin Danculovic" lined the weapon's barrel up with the throat of the newcomer; certainly not an easy target to miss. Pulling the weapon's trigger, and experiencing only minimal pushback, the throat of the chubby, wide-eyed newcomer was torn apart, by a stream of flesh-piercing rounds that penetrated, and then continued to travel through the opposite side of the newcomer's neck.

The newcomer awkwardly, and unceremoniously collapsed, falling backwards, like a thin, weakened tree in a windstorm. His knees had long ago buckled. The newcomer's form hit the concrete flooring with a thud; from the wounds in his throat, blood spurted, and dripped, falling down the edges of his neck, slowly, but surely, beginning to pool around his chubby form.

"Everything's fine."

The Kamijous had traversed in the opposite direction of Accelerator, Misaka Mikoto, Sogiita Gunha and Aihana Etsu, who was chuckling to himself, with his arms folded across his chest. Down the sidewalk, light brown in coloration, with the occasional brick missing, the married couple walked, hand in hand, as always, their fingers intertwined. Kamijou Touma's back was straightened, his great, barrel chest held outwards. Kamijou Misaki walked beside him, as his friend, his wife, and his equal all at once.

"Something funny, sixth ranked?" Accelerator inquired, rhetorically; he couldn't have cared any less.

Aihana Etsu flashed Academy City's "top dog" a devilish, almost predatory grin. Mikoto awkwardly shifted her body's weight, from one side, to the other, as she looked to Gunha, who, too, seemed to be feeling returning tension in the air. The seventh strongest esper in Academy City shrugged his shoulders at the third strongest as if to say, "anything goes."

"Them," Etsu remarked, nodding his head upwards, in the Kamijous' direction. The married couple had turned a corner, and were no longer visible, passing a small, run-down convenience store by. Its frontal panes of glass, which sat within its orange-colored bricks walls were dirtied. Above the store's outer walls, there was a large, yellow sign, which ran from end of the store to the other. "YUKIMART: LOTTERY, FRESH DAIRY, BAKED GOODS, HENTAI (14+)", the sign read, in large, bolded Japanese characters.

The outer brick walls of the store weren't in any better condition. The front entranceway's door, its metallic frame rusted, was propped open, held in place by a red-colored brick, which had been set in front of the door.

"They're probably going to go off and fuck in the woods, or something," Etsu explained, sagely nodding his head.

Accelerator, whose choker had already been flicked, and, therefore, allowed him to access his ability with the aid of the Misaka Network, struggled to hold said ability back, as he grunted in disapproval. Misaka Mikoto didn't seem to be any more amused. From the top of her head, sparks flew, as she shook her head, sharing Accelerator's disapproval.

"Third ranked, seventh ranked. Try to keep up."

By controlling the small, but present breeze around him, Accelerator formed, sprouting from his back, a quartet of perpetually-spinning, and constantly-twisting wings, which resembled funnel clouds, in their shapes. Within the blink of an eye, Accelerator was off, taking to the sky, slowly becoming smaller, and smaller, as he travelled further and further.

Sogiita Gunha didn't seem to have to do anything at all, to take to the skies. Thrusting either of his arms outwards, and upwards, Gunha exclaimed, "FOR GUTS, FOR VICTORY!" and simply blasted off, as if he was a rocket, or, alternatively, was powered by some sort of fuel. Where Gunha had stood, when Mikoto had last blinked, only a series of multicolored explosions remained, which seemed to possess a rather small area of effect. Sogiita Gunha himself was nowhere to be found.

Aihana Etsu winked, in Mikoto's direction, causing her to shudder, slightly. "Well, looks like it's just the two of us, Biri-sensei."

"Don't antagonize," the Railgun warned. "Is it just naturally in you to be a creep? You were like this in high school, too; don't you think you should've mature, by now?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Etsu's eyelids split open, in the time it took Mikoto to blink her own eyelids shut, and then open, again. Where a normal-seeming eyeball should've been, in either socket, there was only a large, glowing orb, in either socket. Light purple, almost lavender-colored, either orb seemed to have a thin layer of some type of plasma-like substance rolling over it, crackling, periodically. From the corners of either of Etsu's eye sockets, streamers, of the same coloration, possessing the same plasma-like substance flew, outwards, crackling, as the orbs themselves did.

From the back of Aihana Etsu, two enormous lavender-colored masses burst forth, literally roaring into existence. They were shaped like kites, and expanded, easily, some ten feet across. Mikoto could only internally compare the length to an avian creature's wingspan. Large, vaguely spike-shaped spines rose from the 'primaries' of either 'wing', and seemed to move freely, wriggling, forwards, and backwards, and side to side, like they were worms in a pile of dirt.

As if they were on fire, lavender 'embers' leapt from both masses, which had been forced into existence by Etsu's Personal Reality. Both masses seemed to move of their own accord, 'flapping' forwards and backwards, gently slapping against the air. Etsu's grin only widened, as both began to flap with greater force, causing more lavender-colored 'embers' to fly, in all directions.

"See ya around, Biri-sensei!"

Restraint Control turned away from the Railgun, and, after gathering momentum through a running start, he bent either of his knees, and then proceeded to leap into the air, with great force. From either of his calves, bursts of lavender-colored 'flames' exploded into existence, and seemed to rocket him upwards, somehow. Mikoto had made a note to ask, at some point, what mechanics were even behind Etsu's ability. In the present, Mikoto couldn't be bothered.

Aihana Etsu repeatedly gained height, by 'rocketing', and then, maximized the advantage of said rocketing by gliding on his wings of lavender-colored 'flames'.

Misaka Mikoto had watched the transformation, of sorts, unfold, silently, with a stern facial expression. She wasn't getting any more used to seeing those things, sitting within the eye sockets of Aihana Etsu, where eyeballs should've been. Mikoto briefly produced her phone, during which time she'd slowly, and, for reasons unknown even to her, cautiously, navigated to the e-mail that she'd been sent, which contained the directions that would lead to her, and her comrades' destination.

The Railgun wasted no more time. Using nearby structures, constructed primarily of magnetisable metallic substances, such as beams, and flooring as leverage, sparks leapt from the form of Misaka Mikoto, as she rose, swiftly. From her forehead, her shoulders, her waist, and from the tips of each of her eight fingers, and both of her thumbs, electricity began to freely flow. With a nod, to no one in particular, the Railgun was off, leaping from structure to structure, keeping herself magnetically afloat.

From one side of a towering apartment complex, and, to the roof of another, and then, to the roof of another complex following the last, the Railgun made her way towards the general direction of her destination. A sea of milky white, silver, and light brown passed Mikoto by, as she steadily began to increase the speed of her commute.

At one point, Misaka Mikoto had passed Aihana Etsu by, who was continuing to 'boost' himself higher, and higher, perpetually, before his 'boosting' ceased, and he began to glide upon his lavender-colored wings. He'd flashed a wink, and a nod at the Railgun, who picked up her pace even further, and swiftly left the sixth strongest esper in Academy City behind.

Beneath the Railgun, the world seemed small; it made her feel a lot bigger than she was. Rising, higher and higher above the towers of silver, and milky, sterile textures, with the aid of her magnetic manipulation, Mikoto soared, free, for the time being, from the worries of her everyday life. For a time, the Railgun's lips even curled, upwards, into a thin, but genuine smile.

Misaka Mikoto spread her arms out, and parted her legs, as electricity jumped from her form. The breeze slapped at her, repeatedly, but Mikoto paid no mind to it. It buffeted her bangs, and caused her hair's fringe to blow about, but, Mikoto couldn't have cared any less.

After some time, Mikoto made landfall, in an area which Mikoto recognized to be a school district four. The overall lack of residential sub-districts, within the school district, and the overwhelming number of food-related facilities pointed directly at her remembrance being correct. Apparently, by muscle memory alone, she'd wound up standing before the closed, glass doors of a Joseph's Coffee and Restaurant.

Mikoto then witnessed something strange, indeed. An oddly-garbed boy – it had to have been a boy, he certainly wasn't tall enough to be a man, by Mikoto's subconscious' standards – approached some more casually-clothed passersby. Mikoto guessed these passersby were a couple; two young women, they held hands, quite tightly, their fingers interlocked. The Railgun smiled, warmly, as the smiling face of Shirai Kuroko invaded her mind's eye.

The oddly-garbed boy produced something from his pocket, and raised it up, near their faces. It was square-shaped, and looked to be completely white, in coloration. He leaned in, and spoke, quietly; Mikoto couldn't hear his words. Both young women seemed to focus on whatever it was that the boy had produced, for a few moments, before they reeled back, shaking their heads, and walking onwards, swiftly.

Misaka Mikoto turned her attention away from the strange sight; it'd hardly been among the strangest. Simple, rectangular structures, built with metallic siding, with plain roofing, constructed of dark-colored shingles were recognized by Mikoto to be the school district's refrigerated storehouses, most of which, to the Railgun's surprise, seemed to be properly functioning. Their northernmost doors appeared to be tightly locked, and even barred; from within the warehouses, golden, synthetic light flooded out, through the small, rectangular-shaped windows which lined their metallic sidings.

Mikoto had come to a temporary rest on a sidewalk. Light brown, in coloration, the walkway was made up of a series of bricks, perfectly paved, each brick aligning perfectly with their neighbors, and their neighbor's neighbors. Between the walkway which Mikoto stood upon, and the adjacent walkway, which was being utilized by only a small number of passersby, a stretch of road was present.

While not necessarily pristine in its condition, the fact that the road, dark in coloration, with two lanes, parted by a broken, white line looked to be functional was more than what Mikoto, or anyone else within the walls of school district four could say for the other school districts' roadways, most of which were completely, and utterly broken, full of potholes, and burnt to a series of crisps. As Mikoto began to walk towards a small, nearby bench, the occasional vehicle passed her by.

Mikoto set herself down, upon the bench's seat, and crossed her right leg over her left. Her right foot repeatedly bobbed up and down, nervously, as the Railgun produced her phone, which, through her absolute control over her ability, she could protect from damage, whether internal or external. After unlocking it, Mikoto moved to begin re-checking the e-mail sent to her by Academy City's faculty. The Railgun tapped upon the map, which had been sent to her, and studied the pre-detailed pathway. Mikoto was on the right track. By continually moving to the east, Mikoto could quickly reach school district nineteen, where her 'quarry' supposedly laid.

Just as Mikoto pocketed her phone, someone took a seat next to her. It was the same boy that'd she'd seen, previously. The individual, a younger man, seemed normal enough. His hairstyle reminded Misaka Mikoto of the hairstyle Kamijou Touma wore, often, when he'd been younger, and even occasionally wore in the present. It still was anything but stylish.

It pointed, upwards, like the hair of some wild animal. Dark brown, in coloration, the boy's hair color even reminded the Railgun of the color of Kamijou Touma's hair, though, this boy's hair was a few shades lighter. Even in the relative darkness, Mikoto could make out such a detail. He was garbed oddly. His clothing was sterile, like the robe one would wear while staying in a facility, of some type. It was bright blue, almost cyan. Even stranger, the boy wore socks with sandals.

"Do you have no sense of fashi… actually, that's a really messed up thing to think, Mikoto. Who are you to judge?"

"Hey," Mikoto stated, casually. "Are you alright?"

The boy grinned a wide, smug-looking grin. He raised his right eyebrow, and winked in Mikoto's direction. Raising either of his arms, he rested their palms against the back of his head, and leaned back, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Hey right back," the boy spoke. "Hungry, but surviving. I saw you up there, you know; might want to be a bit more inconspicuous. You're the Railgun, right? Misaka Mikoto? You're…"

The boy seemed to freeze up. He shrugged, as he leaned forward, pulling his arms down, and clasping his palms. The boy leaned forward, and began to awkwardly twiddle his thumbs. He'd immediately lost his confidence, which, up until the moment that he'd actually engaged Mikoto in conversation, had been practically unbreakable.

"You're, uh… really pretty. I, uh… I like your mascara. It, uh, you know, suits you. You've got, uh, pretty eyes, too."

Mikoto was anything but taken aback; if anything, this was standard procedure. "Thanks," Mikoto said, simply. It wasn't a particularly enthusiastic-sounding vocalization, but, there was a genuine thankfulness behind it, and, the boy seemed to detect it. "It's really nice of you to say that."

"What're you doin' out here, huh? I'd spout something about it being dark, but, I've seen you. Saw you on the Daihasei in '05. You're crazy strong. Don't know how I remember it… I must've been, like, five years old. You were playing for that shitty high school, for whatever reason. You go there for a friend, or somethin'?"

Mikoto sighed. Setting her right leg down, she crossed her left, over her right, and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm no better than anyone else. It sounds really clichéd, but, you can do just about anything, if you set your mind to it. All it takes is some effort. You don't even have to be an esper. Level zeroes can do great things, too. Some level zeroes can do things even greater than any esper ever could."

The boy reached down, into the right pocket of his garb. Mikoto noticed its right sleeve was bloodied; dried, stained crimson ran up and down, along the sleeve's surface. His fingers seemed to fish around, for a few moments, before his right hand revealed itself. In his hand's palm, he clutched the same white, square-shaped object he'd presented to the duo of young women, on the adjacent street.

Raising it, upwards, and holding it in front of Mikoto, a few feet away from her face, the boy's index and middle fingers wrapped around one side of the object, while his thumb was placed on the side of the other. The object in question was, in fact, a photograph.

Misaka Mikoto's eyelids widened, at the contents of the photograph. Either of her pupils suddenly began to shrink; it was that machine, the thing her girlfriend had apparently befriended, to some extent. The machine depicted in the photograph looked to be in far better condition than the machine Mikoto had seen, with her own two eyes.

Its body was covered, fully, from its head, to its lower waist, where the photograph ceased to show any additional details, in body armor. Each individual plate was light silver, in coloration, and, from some unseen source of dull light, amorphous, golden blobs appeared on the plates; Mikoto recognized them to be reflections. In either of the machine's eye sockets, there was a glowing, cyan-colored light. Lines, running along the machine's outer plating were of the same coloration.

An unusual shudder ran down the spine of Misaka Mikoto. Her shoulders, and her lower body vibrated, as she uncrossed her legs, and set her feet only a few inches apart, against the surface of the walkway. The machine appeared to have an ugly, crooked grin stretched across its face. Its individual plates, which were set on its face had contorted, into an almost pleased-looking facial expression.

Around the machine's neck, some type of pendant hung. The Railgun's eyelids closed, nearly completely shut, as she squinted, awkwardly. It wasn't any of necklace Mikoto had ever seen before. The object dangling from the small, light brown-colored band looked vaguely square-shaped.

The left arm of the machine was wrapped, protectively, around the shoulders of a little boy, who couldn't have been any older than seven or eight years old. The boy's cheeks were rosy, his lips curled, upwards, into a warm, toothy smile. The boy's hair was spiked, upwards, dark brown in coloration. His forehead was quite wide. Mikoto took a moment, and looked away from the photograph.

Tilting her head, almost cautiously, to the side, she looked over the forehead of the boy who'd sat himself next to her. His forehead, like the forehead of the boy in the photograph, was large. Not Kongou Mitsuko levels of large, however. Mikoto almost giggled, awkwardly, at the thought. She wondered how Kongou Mitsuko was doing, for a moment, before her conscious mind drifted back to the events of the present.

The boy in the photograph was clad in a simple, tight-fitting black, short-sleeved shirt. His arms, and his neck, were both skeletally thin. Mikoto swallowed, hard, at the sight. She could practically see the boy's bones, beneath the loose flesh that hung, downwards, like the floppy, layered skin of a walrus.

"Have you seen this guy, Railgun? For shit's sake, don't get all spooked. I know he's ugly as crap, but pops is a big softie. Wherever he is, he's probably curled up in a corner, or something. It's a… it's a bit of a long story. So, you see him, or not?"

"Actually, I have. It's… or, he's… looking for you, too," Mikoto answered, cautiously. "I don't know a lot about the situation, but it's… Devastator is its name, right? It's looking for you, too, I think. My g-girlfriend said it's been rambling on about its "boy". I assume that's… you? Is that you, in this picture?"

Mikoto suddenly felt like she'd provided the boy with the incorrect answer. He leaned forward, even further, as he stuffed the photograph back into his right pocket. His lips curled, upwards, and outwards, into a predatory sneer. His teeth were practically bared, as he produced a soft chuckle. It sounded calculating, like the giggling of someone who had hundreds of thousands of ulterior motives. Mikoto had heard many similar laughs, produced by many similar calculating, scheming individuals. The similarities between this boy and Kamijou Touma ended with appearances, apparently.

"Girlfriend? That's interesting. Eheheheh. So, pops is still out there; this is great. We have a lot of time to make up for. I thought he might've gotten himself killed, or scrapped, or some crap. Where is he? Where's pops at?"

Mikoto had two choices. She could tell this boy where the machine was, and risk facing the consequences of her words; or, she could try to lie her way out of the situation she found herself in. Some passersby, who seemed to think the two were an item, of some description, glared daggers at the Railgun; the age difference between she and the pointy-haired boy sitting next to her was all too noticeable.

"Go to the Reformatory in district ten. Last I heard, your "pops" was there."

"That's all? You're not going to try and blast me, or some crap? My bad luck seems to be kicking off. I'll take advantage, then; hey, Railgun. Can I catch some yen? You level fives are loaded. I'm starving, here, and nobody else is biting."

Misaka Mikoto raised an eyebrow, awkwardly. The boy's stomach, as if on command, produced a low, guttural growl, which dragged out, for some few moments. It sounded like the waking vocalizations of some savage animal, preparing for a great hunt. Mikoto couldn't help but see the irony in such an internal comparison; the boy was thin to the pointy of absurdity.

"I don't… actually have any on me," Mikoto stated, truthfully. "I'm actually supposed to be somewhere. Meeting friends, for, an, um… a get-together. Maybe someone else will help you? I'm sorry."

The boy shrugged, as he rose, and stretched, bending himself backwards. The boy produced a long, soft yawn, before he began to smack his lips together, quite loudly. Straightening his back, the boy stuffed either of his hands into his pockets, and rolled his shoulders. Mikoto was quick to notice that, despite his overall thinness, and his unkempt posture, he somehow held himself with an oddly appealing confidence.

"If pops is at the old shithole Reformatory, he's not going anywhere. That means everything is going per our little plan. Well, his; I wasn't really old enough to know what the Hell he was talking about." As if to clarify, the boy suddenly spun on his heel, and raised either of his arms, their respective hands held, upwards, their palms facing the Railgun. "No 'we're going to take over the world' crap, or anything like that! We'll be sticking it to the bad guys in this dump. Not a bad idea, don'tcha think?"

Mikoto, too, rose. Looking to the east, the boy's vision followed her own, curiously.

Suddenly, Misaka Mikoto was lifted from the ground. The boy's left hand had shot, outwards, and, raised, the Railgun found herself hanging, upside down. She was shaken, swiftly, a few times, causing her phone to fall from her pocket; magnetically reaching out towards it, Mikoto pulled the device back towards her. With either of her hands, she held her top in place. Quickly, she was placed back down on her feet, as the boy stuffed his left hand into his pocket, and turned his back to the third strongest level five.

Mikoto struggled to restrain the suddenly overwhelming anger that was bubbling up inside of her, as the boy casually walked off. Practically, from every pore of her body, electricity shot out, as the Railgun clenched her teeth. Her body vibrated, as she cursed under her breath. "Just had to check; you know, make sure you weren't lying to me about not having money! Ta-ta, Railgun!"

Mikoto verbally unleashed a small portion of her anger. "Fucking kid! IDIOT! You don't just shake people like that! I ought to char your fucking bones!"

The boy stopped, dead in his tracks. Craning his neck to the left, and titling his head, he began to retrace his steps. Turning his form around, he began to, almost mechanically, march in Mikoto's direction.

"The fuck you did you just say about me?" The boy inquired, rhetorically. Evidently, he'd heard the Railgun's words well enough.

Suddenly, his facial expression, hardened, and aggressive, softened, as his mechanical marching turned to a weak, almost limp-like crawl. "Nah, don't worry about it. I think I deserved that. Yeah, I definitely deserved that. You should probably do it again, just for good measure. Sorry, Railgun. It's hard out here, you know? I ain't had a proper meal in days, and it's getting to me."

"I do," Mikoto said, continuing to hold her defensive stance. Loose currents of electricity continued to crackle around her; passersby diverted their commutes to the walkway opposite the walkway apparently being used as a makeshift battlefield by the Railgun. "But it's no excuse to fuck with people, like that. Abusing your ability makes you no better than people like Deadlock."

"Hold the lines, just hold up one second!" the boy remarked, excitedly; he was, quite suddenly, oddly perking up, as he began to practically rush towards Mikoto, who felt more than a bit uncomfortable, due to her witnessing of the display.

"You know about Deadcock? Tell me everything you know, Railgun. Pops and me are going to be storming them, at some point. No reason to hide that kind of stuff, right? Everyone hates Deadcock. I think Deadcock even hates Deadcock. I need information, anything you can tell me."

Misaka Mikoto couldn't have been any more confused. She shook her head, and remarked, "I'm sorry, but, I have things to do. I'm already late for my, uh, appointment. I hope you find something to eat. Maybe your "pops" can tell you more."

With those words, Misaka Mikoto departed. Large, swirling currents of electricity, light blue, with hints of white flowing through them surrounded the Railgun; they crackled, loudly, as she rose, and began to fly without wings. Her arms fell to her sides, and Mikoto's lower legs dangled, loosely, as she took the skies, slowly, but surely, becoming less and less of a human, and more of a bright, blue-colored blur, like a comet streaking across the night skies.

The boy, Kamitou Touka, considered following the Railgun. Instead, he, too, took the skies. His left hand extended, outwards, as if he was beckoning some invisible existence to come forth. Rising, upwards, a series of semi-translucent arcs of some unknown energy danced across his forehead. In the time it took passersby, both on foot and behind the wheels of vehicles to blink, the boy was gone.

While the Railgun had travelled to the east, Kamitou Touka traveled to the southwest, with an odd, unfamiliar sensation in his heart; he didn't know it as such, but, that sensation was hope.

With only some troubles on her mind, a few of which concerned the oddly-behaved boy she'd met in school district four, the remaining leg of Misaka Mikoto's journey was a swift one. Surging across Academy City's overcast, darkened skyline, and passing over school district four, Mikoto passed over the tall, milky-colored wall that separated school district four from school district nineteen.

Mikoto was swiftly joined by a platoon of OFFICER Network units, who'd risen from the border between school districts four, and nineteen. Drones, and robotic police officers alike circled Mikoto, swarming, as equals, and assisters, not as antagonists. Their weapons pointed not at the Railgun, but, were held straight ahead.

"TARGET IDENTIFIED. MISAKA MIKOTO. ESPER LEVEL CLASSIFICATION: FIVE. CATEGORY: FRIEND. Moving to engage assistance subroutines on orders of Advisor," the Network's units blurted out, at once. Mikoto greatly preferred being referred to as "FRIEND" by the non-sapient machines, especially if the alternative option was being referred to as "EXPENDABLE".

Surrounded by a platoon of OFFICER Network units, Mikoto felt a bit more secure, than she had previously; immediately, the physical differences between both school districts were all too visible. Misaka Mikoto was hardly a fan of the change of scenery. School district four was by no means an attractive-looking cityscape, but, in comparison with school district nineteen, four was a paradise, where Angels waltzed, and Saints parlayed.

School district nineteen was a crumbling mess. Great apartment complexes, and, what might've been, were broken, collapsing in on themselves, their frames shattered. Mountains of rubble, formed of twisted, metallic beams, as well as various stone, and metal-based building materials dotted the charred, broken roadways, and their shattered walkways.

Visible, even from hundreds of feet in the air, Mikoto's vision was attracted to an enormous, ugly structure. Internally, the Railgun compared its construction to that of Doctor Frankenstein's legendary monster.

There was a semi-coherently constructed structure, in the central mass of the ugly, mostly grey-colored tumors that sprouted up, like a series of blemishes, and dominated an entire neighborhood; it resembled a spire, of some type. Silver, in coloration, like most structures in Academy City, its outer surfaces were smooth, and looked to be constructed of some type of metallic substance. Along the structure's surfaces, there were a great many long, rectangular windows, from which golden, synthetic light poured.

The silver-colored tower had apparently been built around, and added onto, by someone, or, perhaps, a group of individuals, who had far less architectural integrity than the constructor of the original tower. The additions could only be compared to lumps, in the Railgun's mind.

They were round, almost like the shape of a sphere, of some type, each of which were mounted, crookedly, onto square-shaped platforms. Some of these platforms rose, elevated by thick beams, built with a combination of some metallic substance, with stone-like supports.

Each spherical structure was covered in a series of ugly, crooked, rectangular windows, from which a duller shade of golden, synthetic light poured. These spherical structures each were 'topped' with thick roofing, made up of what Mikoto recognized to be large, and awkwardly-placed, dark-colored shingles.

The Railgun suddenly made a dive, pulling herself towards a nearby crumbling structure; whatever the makeshift support Mikoto used had once been, prior to its collapse was unknown to her, as little was left but rubble, from which great, metallic beams rose, like burial markers in a graveyard.

Not only did the Railgun want a better look, but, additionally, in the school district, Mikoto would need to figure out where her destination was, though, she could fully admit to herself that her tardiness would already have been noted.

Misaka Mikoto came to a rest within the expansive, utterly desolate parking lot of the crumbling, perpetually-shattering ruins of what Mikoto could identify as some sort of department store, upon closer inspection.

Still apparently guarded by the platoon of OFFICER Network units, which began to wander about, loudly announcing that a "SEARCH MODE SUBROUTINE" was being engaged, the Railgun produced her phone, unlocked the device, and navigated to the e-mail she'd received.

Checking the provided map, and attempting to compare identified "landmarks" with the crumbling structures around her, Mikoto's vision soon landed upon an ugly, grey-colored blotch, on the electronic map that'd been provided to her by Academy City's faculty.

The small, circular-shaped blot, in the central mass of the darker, grey-colored blot confirmed the Railgun's suspicions; her destination was closer than she thought. To the north, Mikoto would have to travel.

Placing the index, and middle fingers of her left hand upon the tempered glass screen of her mobile device, which was clutched, tightly, in the palm of her right, she dragged, outwards, attempting to zoom into the images displayed on the provided map. Scrolling, with her left hand's index finger, towards her destination, Mikoto tapped on the large, ugly-looking structure that was apparently her destination.

Next to the structure, which she'd tapped on, a small, but elongated, and blue-colored bar appeared. Within the confines of the generated bar, bright, perpetually-waving white text formed, in the time it took the Railgun to blink. "MOONLITE CINEMA", the text read.

Locking her phone, and placing it back into her pocket, Mikoto, again, achieved liftoff, using the nearby, crumbling department store, or, whatever the structure had once been, before it'd collapsed in on itself, as leverage. Currents of bluish-white electricity flowed, freely, circling around Misaka Mikoto, forming a cyclone. As if on command, the platoon of OFFICER Network units abandoned their ill-fated "search", and rejoined the Railgun. Robotic officers rose, and drones hovered around Mikoto's form.

For some minutes, 'guarded' by the OFFICER Network, which, for reasons unknown to the Railgun had actually decided to finally start doing its job, to some extent, Mikoto, utilizing the great many magnetisable structures in school district nineteen, soared across the skyline, heading to the north of the ruined department store, or whatever it had once been.

Over the sea of synthetic, golden light, crumbling apartment complexes, homes, and many educational centers, which Mikoto could successfully identify, due to their extant, exterior signs, which advertised their names, and the purposes of what the facilities had once been, the Railgun travelled, until, finally, she'd reached her destination.

She hadn't even needed to produce her phone to confirm the fact that her journey had been a successful one; the Moonlite Cinema seemed to be one of the few fully-standing, and mostly-intact structures in school district nineteen.

By no means was it particularly large, or, alternatively, it wasn't all that small, either. The Railgun could internally call it "average-sized", for a cinema. Like many other structures, facilities or otherwise in the school district, the Moonlite Cinema appeared to have its electricity enabled, though, even if it hadn't, it hardly would've been a problem; Mikoto could've easily re-enabled the supply manually.

Swiftly, the OFFICER Network platoon left Mikoto's side, and began to swarm down, towards the cinema's derelict parking lot. Even as an abandoned husk, Misaka Mikoto had to admit that it was an impressive feat of architecture; while most parking spaces were paved with simple, dark tar, or, made up of a series of interlinked bricks, Moonlite Cinema's parking lot looked like it was paved with quartz.

The parking space, dotted with great, majestic trees – Mikoto could recognize the old oaks, among other species – glowed, beneath the cinema's synthetic outer lights, the brightest of which was an enormous, white-colored half moon, which was affixed to the jutting, slanted roof of the semicircular-shaped structure. Weeds, standing tall, and holding themselves surprisingly proudly shot up, from cracks in the white-colored parking space.

Coming to a rest in the apparently quartz-paved parking space, Mikoto's vision fell to the great number of OFFICER Network units, which had congregated there. Each robotic officer was armed to the teeth with large, automatic rifles, cocked, their safety mechanisms disabled. Each drone floated above, seemingly without aim. Occasionally, their collective attentions would be caught by some unknown stimuli, which Mikoto couldn't pick up on. They never seemed to move too far, despite this.

"Third ranked. What the fuck took you?"

Mikoto recognized the source of the vocalization almost immediately. A shudder, which was becoming all too familiar, ran down her spine, as Accelerator stepped out from the darkness. From beneath the shadowy veil of the Moonlite Cinema's outer patio, he came, crimson eyes glowing, his hair's long, messy-looking fringe hanging in his face.

She approached. Passing, half in a daze, between the OFFICER Network machines, which didn't seem to pay her any mind, Misaka Mikoto stepped over the curb, which lead up the semicircular-shaped staircase, to the right, as opposed to the similarly-shaped staircase to the left. Gripping the railing, Mikoto leapt, as carefully as she could, up the staircase, her form unintentionally bouncing.

Mikoto stumbled, once she reached the top. Of all the people whose arms she could've found herself falling into, Misaka Mikoto never would've expected the arms of Academy City's "top dog" to catch her. She hadn't even known what had happened to her. Whether she'd intentionally, or unintentionally lost her footing, the Railgun didn't know. The quartz-colored patio, beneath her feet glowed, bathed in the dull, golden light produced by the Cinema's exterior lighting systems.

"Accelerator, I'm so fucking exhausted. Are we ever going to be able to stop fighting? We've been doing this since we were kids. This City's been fucking us all since we were children. Children… is it as wrong to you as it is to me? Why am I even talking to you? I'm supposed to hate you. What even are you to me? Why am I to you?"

Mikoto recognized the feeling that surged throughout her body, and pumped itself through her veins. It was desperation. Mikoto just wanted to go to sleep, for weeks on end.

From the shadows, Aihana Etsu emerged. For once in his life, he wasn't grinning that wide, stupid grin of his. Instead, he was focused intently on the tempered glass screen of his phone, which he clutched in his right hand. Awkwardly, he sniffed, once, before he pocketed the device. The fingers of his right hand, and those of his left had danced across the phone's surface quite quickly. Against the large, ornate pillar to the group's right, Sogiita Gunha leaned, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were closed, though, his chest's noticeable rises and falls suggested to the Railgun that he was awake.

Accelerator clicked his tongue, and helped the Railgun steady herself. His facial expression remained unreadable, all the while, his lips curled, downwards, into a passive, neutral line. "Keep it together, third ranked. Last thing we need is you going and falling apart on us."

Mikoto offered an empty nod, as she breathed in, deeply, and stood tall, her back straightened. The vision of her chestnut-colored irises looked deeply into the crimson orbs that were Accelerator's own irises. Another shiver ran down the young woman's spine, as her upper body vibrated.

"Yeah. Let's… let's get to work, I guess."


	35. Nothing is Certain

Beneath dull, dirty light beaming from a singular bulb in the center of the ceiling, Kumokawa Seria, Academy City's Director labored. She labored not with tools, and she labored not through attempting to bring an infant into the world; no, she was in no position to even consider such a thing. Kumokawa Seria labored with her bare hands, with dark intentions focused on the machine before her.

Deep within the damp, festering bowels of the partially-crumbling structure she called her workplace, Seria leaned forwards, the palms of her hands pressed against the surface of a pulsing, cylindrical machine. It was cold to the touch; the tips of Seria's fingers were beginning to shrivel up and retreat even farther beneath her fingernails.

As if it was a living, breathing thing, the machine moved, inwards and outwards, like it was a disembodied heart that functioned, somehow. Into the rust and mould-covered metallic wall opposite the machine its wires trailed, like a series of elongated worms. Mounted upon a rectangular base, the machine produced a soft humming sound each time it retracted. When it would expand, the machine softly hissed.

It wasn't alive. Kumokawa Seria had to continue telling herself that it wasn't alive; it wasn't a living being, it wasn't human, it was a disgusting machine and nothing more. It was the complete opposite of what being a human entailed.

Seria's feet were killing her. Even after she'd kicked off her heels, aggressively tossing the individual pieces of footwear to either side of the damp, moldering room, her stocking-clad feet still ached. Pressed against the cold, rotting floor, bursts of cold rushed through Seria's body, climbing up her legs and sending shivers throughout her upper body. Occasionally, either of her shoulders were awkwardly twitch.

If it wasn't such a fetishized action, Seria would've requested a footrub. Perhaps she'd toss such concerns to the wind and simply request one, regardless of the fetish such an act was often associated with. She certainly needed one.

If she stopped working, however, she would collapse, and fall into some deep slumber; she could potentially conk out for days. Her body needed to rest, but Seria wouldn't allow it to do so. The darkened bags beneath her eyes were living proof of her form's desperation.

Academy City's Director attempted to clear her thoughts. There was a time and a place for all things; distracting thoughts were among those things that weren't necessary. She could pour herself a cup of coffee and massage her own aching feet. Problem solved.

"Ma'am? Is there anything you require? A drink, something to eat? You've missed lunch again. Supper, too, nearly. I would recommend getting some rest tonight, as well. I can work the terminal. These old hands are shaky, but they can get the job done."

The voice of Kaizumi Tsugutoshi was calm and soothing, tranquility amidst chaos. For a split second, golden, synthetic light beamed in through the doorway, between the crack between the door itself, and the adjacent edge of the entranceway. It quickly disappeared, however; behind him, Tsugutoshi had closed the door.

Taking a long, deep inhalation of oxygen, Kumokawa Seria slowly exhaled, before she turned to face the man she'd once advised. Clad in that "old man" outfit of his, Tsugutoshi's hands were clasped, his arms folded behind his back.

Seria found herself smiling, despite the immense stress she was nearly overwhelmed by; he'd remembered to shut the door behind him.

"Thank you," Seria spoke. "I… apologize for snapping at you, earlier. I'm currently unable to see the Network's prompts in an illuminated space, for reasons beyond even my understanding. Automatic HUD adjustments don't seem to be functioning at all. The Network is flawed, likely permanently. No idea what those troglodytes did while they were controlling it; no interference, still. What's changed, Tsugutoshi?"

Though Seria couldn't see it, Tsugutoshi offered a shrug. He approached, and though he couldn't stand behind her due to the difference in their respective heights, Kaizumi Tsugutoshi took to standing to the pulsing machine's right.

"Perhaps our "benefactors" are occupied, ma'am? A decrease in opposition activity doesn't necessarily mean that we are in the clear."

"Let me in, you fucking piece of shit… you can't keep me out," Seria uncharacteristically growled. A vein in the side of her forehead bulged awkwardly as she placed the palm of her right hand against a small, illuminated screen, situated in the lower center of the pulsing machine.

For some moments, the machine's 'pulse' increased in its speed. Beneath Seria's palm, a series of broken lines ran from top to bottom, as if scanning the flesh that'd been pressed against it.

"IDENTITY CONFIRMED: HELLO, ADVISOR! WELCOME TO OFFICER NETWORK OPERATIONS TERMINAL NUMBER FIVE THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FIVE! TERMINAL INTERNET PROTOCAL LOGGED SUCCESSFULLY! CONTROL TOWER OKAY! QUERY?"

The voice was synthetic, as false and as disgusting as a failed attempt at mimicking a human's voice could possibly be. Its tone of voice was completely flat, as if the thing responsible for the vocalizations was utterly complacent and servile. Seria shuddered. "What the fuck do you think my query is?"

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi cleared his throat, and folded his arms across his chest as he leaned forward. "Ma'am? If I might ask a question, why does the Network name you "Advisor"? I'm not certain that you've ever properly told me. Curious, is all."

"Cover," Seria answered, sounding distracted. She hardly sounded like she was even in the same plane of existence as Kaizumi Tsugutoshi.

"Access units," Seria commanded. "Access the goddamn units, piece of shit."

Some seconds passed, and the 'pulsing' machine began to chug, like it was processing a great amount of information. The illuminated screen on the machine's surface would occasionally seize up, causing Seria's heart to leap into her throat.

More time had passed before the machine managed to successfully convey the information which Seria had requested. The barely-illuminated screen broadcasted a user interface. Multiple menu options were presented, surrounded by and held within perpetually-floating bubbles. Even the Network's user interface made Seria want to vomit. Of course, there was hardly anything within her stomach to eject in the first place.

The index finger of Seria's left hand fell to the bubble nearest to her, which contained a series of blocky letters, spelling out the words "INFANTRY". Each individual letter wouldn't have been out of place on the surface of a small child's spelling block.

There was another bubble in particular that had interested her, however; the bubble had the words "DISCONNECTED UNITS" within it.

For some time, the pulsing machine chugged again, as it processed Seria's command. This period of waiting, when compared to the previous was nowhere near as nerve-wracking for Seria. Within some few dozen seconds, the user interface faded, replacing the previous screen with another. This screen was also consumed, almost completely, by bubbles, which slowly floated around the screen, occasionally bouncing against the screen's edges.

"I should've had my administrative privileges disabled by now," Seria absently commentated. "What the fuck is he playing at? What the fuck are they doing? Fuck these Kiharas. Fuck them all straight to Hell. They can have their collective sphincters expanded with umbrellas."

The tension in Seria's shoulders eased as the soft, but firm hands of Kaizumi Tsugutoshi fell upon them. Beneath her blue suit jacket, her skin trembled in pleasure; the comfort the elderly man's touch brought was heavenly. With a relaxing, almost instinctively fatherly touch, Tsugutoshi massaged.

"T-Tsugutoshi," Seria remarked, breathing a sigh of relief. "T-thank you. Thank you so very much. If the sleep aids don't kill me, this stress will. This is a welcome reprieve from all of that. Could you do that just a bit harder? Right there. That's it. I owe you a drink, old friend."

Standing behind Kumokawa Seria, Kaizumi Tsugutoshi was unable to see over the Director's shoulders. "Nonsense. No need to even mention it, ma'am. It pleases me to pay my dues. You've gained full control, yes?"

Seria tapped the screen once again, then a second time. She resisted the urge to lean forward; Tsugutoshi was having a difficult enough time to reach her shoulders as it was.

"So far. If all goes well, which I truly doubt it will, I may be able to remotely assist them through the Network. I'm deploying law enforcement units to shadow the Imagine Breaker, and Mental Out regardless. If there's interference, they'll likely be trying to bruteforce their way in. Fucking savages. Tsugutoshi, might I ask a favor?"

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi gave a nod, though Kumokawa Seria couldn't see the action being performed. Politely, and with considerable enthusiasm, he replied, "of course, ma'am. What is it you require?"

"Please have Tech continue to try and obtain information on those who've been utilizing the Network before me," Seria commanded. "Locations, IP addresses. Individual unit logs. Even if one Network unit has relevant information stored within it out of hundreds of thousands, that alone could be a great boon. I want to take advantage of this stroke of good fortune. Involve R&D if need be.

"Also, if you can, I'd like you to gather as much information as you possibly could regarding the individual who launched a direct denial of service attack against the Network. Whoever they are, they know their shit. I'd have a word with them."

"I will return with your supper, as well," Tsugutoshi spoke, breaking away from Academy City's Director, and approaching the metallic door that lead out of the enclosed space. "You must eat something, ma'am. I will bring you something light. Even a few slices of toasted bread will provide you with something, anything. You'll work yourself to death; I do not think I could allow such a thing, ma'am. With all due respect."

"Thank you, Tsugutoshi," Seria replied, absently. Without thinking, Academy City's director added, "You're like the father I no longer have. Thank you for being here. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love you."

"And I always will be, ma'am, until my dying day. I will return with word of progress soon, or I will not return at all, save to deliver your meal," Tsugutoshi remarked. "Your love is reciprocated, ma'am."

September 23rd, 2014. 7:34 PM.

Kamijou Touma looked over his shoulder for the umpteenth time, craning his neck to the right, and then to the left.

As always, there were no foreign presences, nothing out of the ordinary; the fact that the crumbling roadways, the derelict, broken structures and heavily damaged sidewalks of school district seven were becoming "normal" to him stood out as a blight in his higher mind.

At any moment, the young man expected to be jumped; perhaps by some drug-addled freaks hiding in one of the ruined husks that had once been functioning structures, perhaps from behind him, or even from just outside of his peripheral vision.

"Touma?"

Kamijou Misaki's voice was as soft and as musical as always. She walked at her husband's side, her fists clenched, prepared to rain Hell down upon anyone or anything that would dare try to harm her, or her beloved.

Snapping out of his trance-like state, Touma spared a moment to look to his wife, and offer her the best crooked smile he possibly could. "Yeah, Misaki? Talk to me. How're you feeling? Anything off here to you, aside from the obvious? I'd like your input."

"I would feel more confident with a weapon in my hands," Misaki admitted. She swerved, moving slightly closer to her husband; Misaki's voice dropped to a soft whisper. "Perhaps we could scavenge for something? Even if we wielded mere close combat weapons, it would be better than no weapons at all. A firearm would be ideal, but the chances of finding one in the street are next to none."

Touma nodded, as Misaki looked to him. "Yeah. I agree. We could dip into an alleyway, try and find a couple of rusted old pipes or something. I'm hoping we won't need them, but I won't just stand there and let myself get hit.

"Do you have any yen on you? I have my wallet. If we find a… well, a self-defense weapons dealer of any kind, really, doesn't matter who, we could pick some up on the cheap." Before Misaki had the chance to reply, Touma added, "by the way, Misaki, do you have your remote? Or more than one?"

After reaching into her jacket's pocket, Misaki produced the utensil. Square-shaped, and dotted with several small, red-colored buttons, the remote sat snuggly in the palm of Kamijou Misaki's right hand. "Just the one. It is all I need; I am doubtful that we will encounter any magic users. I would much prefer not to utilize it."

The married couple walked side by side, for a while. To the couple's surprise, passersby seemed content to mind their own respective businesses. Kamijou Touma had been expecting at least a single fistfight to break out, at the very best. One scruffy-looking female individual, likely a member of one of many Skill Out factions within what remained of Academy City even nodded in the couple's direction, an inherently friendly action.

It was Kamijou Touma who broke the silence, pointing towards a semi-lit alleyway to he and his wife's right. The wall-mounted bulbs that lit the alleyway only did so periodically, occasionally blinking in and out of existence. Between two derelict structures, which the married couple couldn't even begin to guess the former purpose of, the alleyway was quite narrow, and not particularly lengthy – not quite the ideal villainous hideout.

What had caught Kamijou Touma's eye was the pile of discarded structural waste in the alleyway. In his mind, the waste could've only ended up where it had ended up in one way; the rightmost section of the leftmost structure's outer wall had collapsed in on itself. While most of the rubble must've ended up crushing the interior of the structure, some had managed to spill out into the alleyway, forming the mound.

"Check it; could be something nice down in there," Touma hissed. Misaki's neck craned to her right, as she, too came to a grinding halt. As the one of the bulbs within the alleyway blinked, Kamijou Misaki's starry eyes caught a glimpse of what her husband had seen. The alleyway was vacant, seemingly untouched and completely derelict. Though trash littered the ground, suggesting a human presence, there didn't appear to be any other people within.

The young woman brandished her remote, holding it outwards, pointing away from her. On the remote's largest button, situated within the right-hand corner of the device, Misaki's right hand's thumb sat, prepared to push the button inwards at any moment, and utterly destroy the mind, or minds of any who would harm her, or her husband.

Touma reached downwards, towards the shattered walkway, and in the palm of his hand he clasped a small, jagged piece of rubble. Once the chunk had been lifted, a small group of strange, brown-colored insects fled across the walkway. "Did I say nice? What I meant to say was… uh… well, nice, in relative terms. Nice for smacking someone around with."

Reeling his arm back, Touma took a few steps forward, and then violently hurled the rubble into the alleyway. It crashed straight into the festering mound of structural waste; skittering rodents fled from beneath, and from the rooftops of the semi-collapsed structures on either side of the alleyway, birds fled, taking to the skies and squawking in protest, their shared roost disturbed. No human, or humans emerged however.

Kamijou Misaki took the lead. She held her right arm outwards, to her side, wriggling her middle and index fingers, silently instructing her husband to follow behind her; he did so loyally and without question. Her left arm was extended outwards, away from her, remote in hand.

"We are clear, it seems," Misaki hissed. "Do not let your guard down, husband."

Cautiously, the married couple approached the mound of structural waste. As Touma had suspected, the mound was made up mostly of dislodged bricks, identical in style and in coloration to the semi-collapsed structure they'd fallen against. Jutting upwards from the mound were several rust-covered and jagged metallic beams.

His wife apparently had the same idea as her husband. Misaki approached the mound; placing her right foot against it, she wrapped both of her hands around the nearest beam.

Like a sword placed into a stone that'd been waiting for a chosen warrior to wrest it free, the beam was viciously yanked from the mound. Kamijou Misaki, with even greater force pulled another from its crumbled tomb, though she snapped the rusted beam in half during the process. She produced only a soft, barely-audible grunt during both instances.

"I will take the shorter bar," Misaki stated. "You have no ability to fall back on, husband. Please, take the larger bar. Should conflict present itself, you will want to be able to efficiently rely upon your strength ability."

It was then that Kamijou Misaki raised an eyebrow. Where in the world had that come from? It certainly hadn't been a conscious decision to bring that embarrassing tic back.

"Been a while since I last heard that, beautiful," Kamijou Touma remarked. Gently, he took the longer beam from his wife, and grasped it in both of his hands. "Can't say I mind; that little tic is really cute, you know. Your cute ability has always just made me want to snuggle you up."

Kamijou Misaki smiled as warmly as she could in her husband's direction. As before, she took the lead, and safely saw herself and her beloved out of the alleyway. Once the married couple emerged, Kamijou Misaki pocketed her remote, but kept her weapon visible for all to see.

Passersby seemed anything but concerned that two individuals were walking down the street, armed with weapons capable of bludgeoning a person to death. The Kamijous could only assume that the sight of armed individuals was a regular one in the remnants of school district seven. Their lack of knowing showed just how much the married couple actually left their apartment, when work wasn't calling them to duty.

This was supposed to be his home, and, yet here he was, walking, armed to the teeth. How could he be safe if no one even batted an eye at such a sight? How could his beloved be safe?

For some time, the married couple continued on their way. Both knew what they were looking for, but it was first a matter of finding it, and then going about obtaining it. The Kamijous would need a vehicle.

It was a valid topic of conversation for Kamijou Misaki, who neared her husband's side. A vehicle passed the two by; large, with customized wheels, an exotic, baby blue paintjob and an enormous spoiler, the thing practically growled as it surged by.

From within the vehicle, the repeated, distinctive thumps of an aggressive piece of music were audible. The Kamijous could feel their insides shaking, during the brief few moments in which the vehicle had been directly beside them.

Once the vehicle, and its loudness had passed, Misaki's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Touma, what are we going to do? We need to take a moment and ponder our options. I do not think that public transportation would take passengers through district one."

"Five and six are fucked, too," Touma hissed back, in response. "I really don't want to involve anyone else. If we bummed a ride and someone ended up getting hurt, or worse… I don't think I could do that, Misaki. I'd feel better… well, not really. I'd feel less bad about stealing one. I know that sounds like a terrible thing to say, but…"

"Touma?! You cannot be serious." Misaki's voice had noticeably risen in its loudness. Though more than a whisper, its volume was on par with that of a casual statement.

After taking a few short, but deep breaths, Kamijou Misaki tossed her head back, causing her golden hair to flow; as well, it was buffeted by the breeze, pushed to the right, and then to the left. Her hair's fringe, too, was buffeted, as were her bangs. "I apologize, everything. I lost my temper. This place and these trying times are taking their toll on me. I did not mean to yell at you."

"It's cool. You barely even raised your voice, beautiful. Any other ideas? If so, I'm all ears. I don't want to steal someone else's property either, but what options do we really have here? Nobody we know would probably even be willing to take us anywhere near district nineteen; if they were willing to, something could easily happen to them. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we ended up getting someone hurt, Misaki. I'd rather it be me."

Kamijou Misaki considered telling her husband about her own idea, for a moment. She'd fallen uncharacteristically silent, producing a soft "hm" as she contemplated, and weighed her options. With her husband acting as her eyes and her ears, Misaki could retreat into her own mind, and form a plan of action.

"I will say this much, my prince; using my ability in this regard is out of the question, as well. I would not allow an innocent bystander to be pulled into this quandary of ours, and I would not so brazenly use another person in such a manner.

"But we could obtain a durable vehicle through the use of my ability. Will you hear me out, Touma? Will you listen?"

"Of course I will," Touma stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I'll listen. Just talk to me. What do you think I'm going to do? Freak out, or something?

"Listen, beautiful, I know I haven't been… stable, or all that dependable either, lately… fuck it, I haven't been dependable at all. I've been really stupid, and really needy. I'm sure I've been putting way more pressure on your shoulders than I ever should've. I'm going to do my best to put an end to it; I'm not going to lash out at you, just because you have an idea that I don't agree with. If I don't agree with your idea, I don't agree with it, and I'll explain that. Talk to me, please.

"I want your input; I want your council, right now. Like I said, I don't want any decision to be made that's just "mine" and "mine" alone. I want the decisions being made, here, to be our decisions, ones we make together."

A thin, but warm smile crept onto the face of Kamijou Misaki. "Then you will have it, everything. Let us find somewhere more private to discuss this matter? Those unaware of the nature of our presence here could misinterpret our intentions, and think us a threat, should they hear what I have to say."

Kamijou Touma raised an eyebrow. For a moment, he faced his wife, before he swiftly returned his attention to the walkway in front of him. Just in time, as well; Touma just barely managed to dodge an oncoming cyclist, who zoomed between the married couple, crying out "SORRY!" on her way through.

He looked down to his right hand. "You're the last thing I need right now. Just fuck off, would you? Get the fuck out of me. Get away from me, go. Go pester someone else. I'm sick and tired of you holding me and Misaki back. Just… FUCK OFF!

"Do you have any idea how much I hate you? I hate you more than… I hate your existence. You're dirt to me, less than dirt. Get out of my hand. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. MY. HAND. I'm going to scream. I can feel it. I'm going to fucking lose it… okay, come on, Kamijou Touma. Get it together. Get it together. Look at Misaki. Look at this beautiful woman who adores you, and is completely faithful to you. Just look at her."

For some time, the married couple walk, seemingly without aim. The two lovers passed by multiple restaurants on their journey, most of which were too populated to serve as a place of spilling secrets, and speaking of ill-fated plans.

Apartment complexes, some pristine in their condition, some functional, and some crumbling, derelict ruins were passed by, as well as structures that resembled dormitories. The sea of milky white and silver practically consumed the couple, those that travelled throughout the walkways, and the roadways of Academy City's seventh school district. Ruination and remnants of what had once been, but likely would never again be mixed together, forming the most disgusting of concoctions.

Time had passed, and the married couple had walked a great ways, coincidentally in the direction of school district one, before the married stumbled upon a small, decrepit park. Moving away from the walkway they'd been traversing, the Kamijous cut through a small field with its blades of grass up to their knees to reach the vacant park.

The parameter of the park was surrounded by a short, metallic fence, covered in a thick, all-consuming layer of rust. Its chain link fabric was arranged in such a way that it formed a floral design. Little more than a patch of grass, with numerous benches, some of which had been knocked over, the vacant park was just the right place.

Kamijou Misaki produced her remote, and, holding it away from her, she pressed her right hand's thumb against a small, circular button in the center of the device.

"PIIIIII!"

"We are alone, and it will remain that way. I apologize for…"

"No," Touma interrupted. Placing his hand upon his wife's shoulder, he gently pecked her forehead. "Don't apologize. It's time for me to grow the fuck up, a little bit.

"I can't be stuck in my stupid ways forever. I've already pushed my idiotic morals on everyone who has ever associated with me. I can't take that idiocy back, but I can keep more from happening. Don't apologize for using what you worked so hard to get. I should apologize. If anything, I've probably been holding you back."

For some moments, Kamijou Misaki simply looked at her husband. She looked up at him, into his eyes, and their dark-colored irises. There was so much pain within them, within the eyes of the man who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders time and time again. Anger, seething hatred, sorrow, and absolute hopelessness had mixed together to form a truly sickening concoction.

The breeze assaulted Misaki's hair, and her husband's as well. A chill ran down the young woman's spine, and her body vibrated. Her eyelids closed shut, and from the corners of her eyes, liquid pain fled, rolling down her cheeks.

"You do not hold me back, husband. You never have. You propel me, and push me forwards. You are the fuel that allows me to gain liftoff, and achieve such great things. You are the wings I can always count on to keep me soaring."

She took a seat upon the nearest bench, and rested her back against the bench's backrest. Sighing, Misaki sniffed, as she attempted to regain her composure. She was failing spectacularly at doing so. Tears rushed down her face, and a soft, low sob fled Misaki's lips. Kamijou Touma had quickly taken a seat next to his wife, and had taken her left hand into both of his. Softly, he massaged the extremity.

"I fucking hate seeing you cry. It kills me, Misaki." Touma raised his wife's hand to his lips, and repeatedly kissed it. "You don't have to stop though. Let it all out. It's not good to hold this shit in, it'll destroy you. I'll always here for you. I swear, I swear to the Magic Side's God that I'll always be here for you, Misaki."

"And I will always be here for you, everything," Misaki croaked, awkwardly. "I would not want to live in a world without you at my side. Such is unthinkable, such would be a living Hell.

"I need my caring, tender, understanding husband more than anything… I am beginning to sound like a looping audio track, aren't I? I suppose… I suppose I simply have to repeat myself, to remind myself what it is that I am fighting for. Speaking these words helps me to solidify them, and make them realer than they are simply floating in my mind."

For a considerable period of time, the Kamijous sat, allowing their words to fade as a comfortable silence took their respective place. Kamijou Misaki eventually regained her composure, with considerably aid from her husband.

He was perfect in every way; the ultimate partner, for her. He was so absolutely selfless, so dedicated to her, to her needs, to acting as the support she needed when she had a difficult time supporting herself. Kamijou Touma was beyond the realm of perfect. He'd long ago stepped outside the realm of perfection, and into unknown territory.

Misaki broke the silence, as the moon's light bathed them in its silvery glow. "A public transportation vehicle would be far more durable than a normally purchasable civilian vehicle. You and I, husband, could easily obtain one using my ability; the vehicle's driver, and its passengers could easily be directed to the safety of a nearby restaurant, or to Anti Skill's headquarters, after… after having their memories of the incident removed… of course. I would much rather not have to engage in such an act again, but…"

The young woman's words faded. Kamijou Touma's answer came surprisingly swiftly; surprisingly to Kamijou Misaki, at least.

"You know what, Misaki? Unless we were to get one of our friends involved, and there's no way I can stand for that, I think that might just be our best option. A bus can take way more abuse than a car, or even a truck can. It'd be sketchier to see a bus driving through an unsafe district, but I guess all plans have their downsides. I can't think of anything better. It's not like there're bulletproof acro bikes, or something."

With that, Misaki rose, and offered her left hand to her husband, who looked at it for a moment. Touma too rose, and took his wife's hand into his own right, wordlessly. The couple left behind the graffiti-covered bench, beginning to make their way out of the derelict park.

Through the rusted, ajar gate the couple passed, as it rocked, back and forth, pushed on its rust-covered hinges by the breeze, which was perpetually gaining strength. The knee-high blades of grass the couple were forced to trek through were buffeted by the winds, pushed from one side and to the other. From within the blades, insects scurried, and leapt away, escaping the colossal footfalls of the human invaders.

Kamijou Touma had produced his phone. While his wife, Kamijou Misaki served as his eyes and as his ears, Touma's own eyes were focused on the device's screen. It's map application had been launched, and before Touma, a rough, simplistic map of the area around he and his wife was displayed.

Tapping a small bar in the upper left hand corner of the application's border, a drop-down menu was produced. From a lengthy selection of destinations, Touma scrolled downwards through the menu until the words "public transportation terminals" were discovered, falling swiftly into his eyes' vision.

Touma tapped on the menu option as if his life depended on it. In a manner of speaking, it did. His phone's internal GPS was utilized by the application, and, based on he and his wife's location, several terminals were highlighted, as the application's view zoomed outwards.

"Misaki," Touma announced. "Bus stop a few minutes' walk from here. We should probably head that way." The young man pointed to their right; a mostly unpopulated street. Flanked by great, towering structures, an extension of the roadway and a walkway on either side of it was present. Beneath the glow of the moon's light, and the brightness provided by the odd streetlamp that functioned, the path looked anything but inviting.

"Would this be the closest stop?" Misaki inquired. "What about if we were to continue walking this way? There are more people."

The couple had come to a stop on a section of walkway that wasn't completely shattered. If they were to continue walking north, the couple would cross an intersection, and end up moving towards a facility of some type.

Letters, forming a word, made up of great, flashing neon lights were mounted on the front of this facility, above the five entranceway doors. "SODOMY and GOMWHOREA: NAKED LADIES (cumming inside okay, STD/STI-free and willing to serve your every need)", the sign proudly read.

"About… thirty-five minutes, give or take," Touma answered, after consulting his phone's map application. "The one on our right is the closest. We'll be fine, we're armed. You've got your ability, and… me? Well, I can punch things. Hard."

"Do not sell yourself short, love," Misaki softly reprimanded. "You can do, and have done much more than simply "punch things". If you are comfortable with this idea, and if you are feeling confident enough to travel a less populated street, then so am I. Let them come, husband. Let them utterly fail."

With his phone clutched in his left hand, and with his wife's left hand held tightly in his right, Touma's makeshift weapon was stuffed into his legwear, hidden beneath his top. Occasionally, it would rub against the surface of his boxer-clad thigh as he walked.

Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki walked the darkened, dimly lit pathway, beneath the figurative shadows of the towering structures. Consulting his phone's map application, Touma learned that he and his lover had to make a right turn, across the street. Looking either way, more than once, the married couple traversed the wide, vacant roadway, and made a right turn. They walked uphill, their legs fighting back against the elevated walkway.

The Kamijous identified a source of synthetic light. What looked like a dormitory, or perhaps an apartment complex smaller than most had collapsed; the entirety of the structure's front had crumbled, and spilled structural waste into the walkway, and into the roadway as well. The interiors of the ruin were exposed.

As the married couple walked by, they could see within ruined rooms, complete with their furniture intact. Beds, drawers, dressers, vanities, and even living areas, such as kitchens and living quarters were visible. Seated upon the couch of an exposed room, on the structure's first floor were a group of youths.

Huddled before a wooden coffee table, each took turns in passing, from person to person what looked to be a joint of marijuana. The Kamijous paid them only a glance, and, in return, the youths did the same. Once it was established that the couple wasn't a threat to their shenanigans, the youths turned away, and returned to their business.

"Can you blame 'em?" Touma eventually inquired. Having made a left turn, the ruined structure, and the youths within had been left behind. The newest walkway to be traversed by the married couple was considerably more populated, and better lit than the previous. Conversation could begin again, evidently. "Never… you know. Did that sort of thing myself; but I can understand why. It must be hard for kids around here. Not a thing to do. Guess that's why there're so many gangs."

"It is unfortunate," Kamijou Misaki replied, softly. She clutched her husband's hand tighter, her fingers interlocking with Touma's own. "I suppose there are worse things they could be doing. As you said, so-called "gang-banging" is all too popular amongst this City's youth. It is a crying shame that children are lead to follow such a dark path."

"Misaki, beautiful, I want to ask you something. Want to get my mind off… this. Think about something happier 'til we, you know, have to do it. I'm still not liking this… fuck. Let me try again. Misaki, what do you think it'd be like to… to raise a child?"

Kamijou Misaki smiled. Her lips curled upwards into a thin, but warm smile. Her eyes closed momentarily, as she envisioned such an existence in her mind. Tranquility, love, shared between husband and wife, mother and father, and their offspring. Kamijou Misaki didn't recognize the location, surely the living quarters of some hypothetical dream home. Though unborn in reality, Misaki could almost see the features of this vision-child.

The child was a female. Misaki wasn't quite sure as to how, or as to why her mind had selected for the vision-child the same gender as the body it inhabited, but regardless of reasoning this vision-child was female. The child slumbered; she couldn't have been more than a few months old, wrapped in the powerful, yet feminine arms of her mother, who looked down at her vision-daughter, starry eyes glowing, moist with tears of joy. The fingers of her father's right hand stroked her forehead, tears freely running down his cheeks.

"With you, my prince? I think it would be… I think it would be absolutely… beyond words. Surely, such a journey would be trying, at times, unless we are lucky enough to have a child like little Hamazura Daichi, so well-behaved and understanding; and you, Kamijou Touma, husband. You will be the greatest there ever was. There will be no father to rival you."

Will?"

Delivered softly, and almost meekly, the response given by Kamijou Touma was hardly unwarranted, or unexpected. The hope in her husband's voice caused Kamijou Misaki's smile to widen, spreading further, and becoming almost toothy.

"Will," Misaki repeated. "When this… whatever this is comes to its conclusion, when all is said and done, when we flee this place, this broken City – I will no longer speak of ifs, for such is simply discouraging – I want nothing more than to be the mother of our child."

Touma was silent. He didn't respond; he didn't truly know how to. Even as Academy City was perpetually crumbling, and falling further and further into a state of disrepair, Kamijou Touma felt the highest of hopes well up in his heart.

It was in that very moment that Kamijou Touma finally admitted to himself – he'd known the fact for years – that he wished to be a father. The moment in which this self-admittance dawned was a small, insignificant period, some seconds between some minutes and some minutes between some hours, another of many grains of sand dropping from one end of an infinitely spinning hourglass to another.

"Touma, I want to offer our child the very world on a silver platter. A life of joy and opportunity. Neither of us, husband…"

Misaki looked to her left, and then to her right. Everything was clear; there were very few passersby among the shattered ruins. There were two, some twenty feet apart from one another on the opposite side of the street; neither paid a second of attention to the married couple, or to one another. With this knowledge, Kamijou Misaki could let her liquid pain flee freely once again.

"Neither of us had a normal, proper childhood. If there is a God, may he, or it bless your parents, they are… they are more like parents to me than my own ever were. You were blessed enough to be the child of two loving, caring, and gentle individuals who raised you with the most wonderful of morals, and the most wonderful of values."

"Ironic that I'm the one using the word, but you weren't so lucky." Touma spoke his words grimly.

"No." Misaki's uttering of the word was weak, and full of shame. She looked to her feet, and the walkway beneath them, slowly passing her by as she traversed it. The pain, the beatings, the berating, it all returned; but then Misaki remembered who it was she walked with. Kamijou Touma, the man she'd married. Gentle, tender and understanding, the man who had never, and never would raise his voice, let alone raise a hand to her.

"Mother" is a coward who would not know independence or pride if both were to have slapped her in the face. "Father" was an animal who deserves to die. I would wish no fate upon any other man, husband, I am not a vengeful person… not anymore, at least… but I would shed no tears if the man rotted from the inside out, alone, in some dusty hospital. May his suffering be drawn-out.

"But that is not what is important. The past lays in the past, dark as it is. The bruises are gone, never to return, and so is he; that evil man is gone forever from my life, at the very least. That, in and of itself is enough to satisfy me. What is important is what I wish to give our child, Touma, everything. I wish to give our child the childhood neither you or I had the chance to experience. Normality, simplicity."

"You're not just saying you do because you know I do? I don't think you would, but… I guess I feel like I need to check. I do. I can admit it. I'm… I'm man enough to stand up and admit that, if everything falls into place, somehow, I want to be the father of our child, and give our child the life we never had; but do you? Really?"

Kamijou Misaki's grip tightened on her husband's hand, her fingers pushing even deeper into the spaces between Touma's own fingers.

"Really, Touma. I would never lie to you; every word that comes from my lips when I speak to you is truth, and only truth. Why wouldn't I? Why wouldn't I want to share my life with our perfect love made flesh? Our love may change when a child is brought into our life together, yes, but our bond will never weaken. Such is impossible. It is an unbreakable force, greater than even the mightiest of metals.

"There are roadblocks, yes, but they are merely roadblocks; they can be climbed over, and left behind as we push onwards. Even the issue of your Imagine Breaker is merely a simple, but tall-standing roadblock, which you and I will scale, as we always have."

"I like the name "Natsumi". Pretty; it means "summer beauty". Did mom ever tell you? That's what…"

"… that is what you were to be named, if you had been born a proper young lady," Kamijou Misaki concluded, finishing her husband's sentence for him.

Touma grinned, and produced a soft chuckle. Misaki smiled for her own reasons. Perhaps, despite her better judgment telling her such a thing was foolish and unrealistic, the married couple would, indeed have a little girl, perhaps even the vision-child Misaki had seen in her mind's eye.

From that point until the married couple reached their destination, a comfortable, and surprisingly hopeful silence had descended upon them. Within his mind, Kamijou Touma's admittance of the truth gave him the strength he needed to carry on, even as crumbling ruin after crumbling ruin he passed by. He wore his admittance like armor.

While Kamijou Touma had his admittance, Kamijou Misaki held hope in her heart; it surprised her that, amidst the fallen City she'd once, and still begrudgingly called home she could find hope.

It wasn't in Academy City in which she found her hope. Rather, it was within her own mind. She clung to that vision of hers, and to the vision-child she'd seen. Misaki could remember every detail, every line and crevice on that vision-child's face, her closed eyes, the tiny, pink hat the child wore atop her head to keep her warm.

Armored by admittance and hope, the married couple came upon their destination; the public transportation terminal.

Touma hadn't known what he'd been expecting. It stood, at least; but just barely. Its metallic frame was corroded and covered with rust. The glass panels, originally placed to protect the shelter's would-be temporary inhabitants from the elements had been smashed, their remnants scattered across the cobbled ground beneath the shelter's roofing.

"Maps says this one is active until eight thirty tonight, next bus should come at eight," Touma explained; Misaki had looked more than a little bit reluctant. Her husband could hardly blame her for feeling that the shelter might not have been actively frequented by public transportation vehicles. "A few minutes after quarter to eight. We've got some time, beautiful."

Misaki nodded. She stepped into the shelter, between two metallic beams where a panel of glass had once been affixed. Beneath her feet, broken glass cracked and crunched. The young woman didn't reel back in terror as most would have. Instead, she inspected her surroundings as her husband stood just beyond what remained of the shelter, his mind focused on continuously observing the vacant roadway.

Sitting upon the terminal's bench was out of the question. Aside from the fact that it was covered in disgusting, brown waste matter of some type, it was plastered with graffiti, with shards of broken glass sprinkled across its surfaces, apparently for good measure.

"Touma," Misaki spoke, softly. She stepped out from within the shelter, and took to standing beside her beloved. Despite the tension in the air, and despite their crumbling surroundings, she wrapped her right arm around her husband's left, and, producing her remote, Misaki produced an exasperate sigh.

"What if those we call our friends do not wish to leave this place? What if they cannot? It sounds awful to say such things, I realize that, but, if we are to find a way to cast your Imagine Breaker out, and… expand our family… we cannot do so here, realistically. Rikou is braver than I am. I cringe at the thought of walking our child to their classes without you at our side. There is so much that could happen in the blink of an eye to a lone woman and her child, in this accursed place."

Touma rubbed his shoulder, lovingly, against his wife's own. "For what it's worth, Rikou drives; still, your point stands. It's not all that easy for them, either. Shiage doesn't like raising Daichi here any more than we like seeing them be trapped here, but, what choice do any of us have? Those fucking robots just hang around the borders. You've seen what happens to people who try to flee by themselves. Shiage and Rikou are smarter than that.

"Neither of us were born here, beautiful, but just because we came from this place, people would hate us and think we were… mutants, or something. Me and Shiage don't even have abilities, we're just like people on the outside. Him more than me, but… you know. This fucking forsaken cursed hand only does so much.

"Maybe we'll have to focus on what we can control, Misaki. We can't control what the people we care about do, we can't force them to flee with us. We can talk to everyone about it, and maybe they'll feel the same way. Maybe they'll just need the extra push, you know? We can't lose hope. If we lose hope, we lose everything."

Kamijou Misaki didn't have a verbal answer to give. Instead, she responded in a simpler fashion. She rested the side of her head against her husband's shoulder, and nuzzled him. Misaki's eyelids closed, and she produced a soft, wordless vocalization.

Silence descended when words ceased; it was a matter of waiting for the moment in which husband and wife would have to break their own rules. Touma awaited the headlights of the next bus with anxiousness in his gut, clinging to his admittance of the truth as tightly as he could.


	36. A Certain Prelude

Between the Kamijous, conversations had come, gone, and were quickly forgotten by both parties; they'd been of little substance, mere tools to be used in a sad attempt to distract themselves from what they felt they had to do.

Various topics had come up; shared and personal enjoyments, goals, what life would be like when the married couple retrieved, forcibly or otherwise, Kamijou Index, and various mediums of entertainment. The married couple saw entertainment as a port in a storm of decaying ruins and a City of broken, misplaced dreams.

As they watched, and waited for the moment in which they would both have to go against what their own inborn morals and values told them what was "right", both Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki became antsy. This wasn't something that was right, this was wrong to the core, and they both knew it. Their plan involved theft, the coveting of another's goods. Neither was religious, but the old Christian Commandment applied to their situation as well as any anecdote could.

Sets of headlights would occasionally present themselves, illuminating the almost inky darkness, and cause the married couple's respective hearts to jump into their throats, before the source would reveal itself to be a vehicle other than a mode of public transportation.

Some ten minutes had passed. When a set of two headlights, bright and silver-colored presented themselves, both Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki didn't react in nearly such a panicked manner; desensitization was already beginning to set in.

Though Touma's heart began to beat quicker at the sight, he didn't immediately assume. Instead, he focused on the headlights, glowing in the darkness, and tried to discern what their source might be.

Kamijou Misaki had succeeded before her husband had. The sound the vehicle made alone was enough to tell Misaki that it was the type they'd been searching for. Its deep, guttural growling was loud, like the snores of some monstrous, slumbering beast. Smoke pillowed from two great pipes mounted to the vehicle's rear. Evidently, this vehicle in particular was an older model, which didn't harvest solar and lunar energy to power itself.

Raising her television remote, Kamijou Touma's beloved pointed the plastic device in the direction of the oncoming vehicle, her right hand's thumb hovering over its power button. Misaki's honey-colored eyebrows arched, and her brow furrowed. Her lips curled downwards into a frown, as her higher mind forced her body into action. She breathed deeply, and pressed down with great and sudden force. The plastic remote crunched and creaked within her grip.

"PIIIIIII!"

The public transportation vehicle soon rolled to a stop, a few feet from the terminal which the married couple stood before. Without a sound, Kamijou Misaki began to approach the vehicle, the interior of which was awash in golden light. In the vehicle's seats, passengers sat upright, their hands folded in their laps, their eyes filled with golden stars. Their faces were expressionless, like zombies waiting for the command of the one who'd enthralled them. They sat perfectly, like so many rows of storefront mannequins.

The vehicle's driver found herself in a similar situation. Her hands had fallen away from the vehicle's steering wheel, and were set in her lap.

"Make for the south, and enter the first populated public establishment you find. Two men of unknown descent, clad in dark clothing, ski masks and in possession of military grade weaponry have hijacked this vehicle. They did not speak of where they were heading to you directly, but you thought you heard hushed whispers mentioning the old Building in the center of this school district. Act as if you've seen a monster, as if you are terrified upon leaving this vehicle."

Misaki raised her remote above her head, and nodded to her husband, who rested his right hand's palm upon his forehead. Misaki couldn't blame her husband for doing so.

"PIIIIIIII!"

In response to Mental Out's attempts at invading his mind, Kamijou Touma's right hand produced a loud, shrill sound, and the effect was negated before it had even been given the chance to function as intended. Apparently, despite its Bearer's hatred for it, Imagine Breaker chose to remain with him. Maybe it was enjoying its Bearer's suffering. Maybe it knew that, with it, Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki would never extend their family; maybe it wanted that, maybe it wanted Kamijou Touma all to itself.

Inside of her Mind, Misaki's next set of mental commands were issued to anyone within three hundred meters of she and her husband's position.

"You have seen nothing. You forgot what it was that you sought to do, and now you cannot remember. You will ignore the existence of all public transportation vehicles, and all of those within them. The concept is alien to you, now; unknowable. Set timespan of effect: twenty-one minutes forty-three seconds. Restore effect upon completion until category 401 is triggered."

Touma watched on, as Misaki pressed another button on her remote, which remained pointed in the bus's direction. Rising, the passengers each removed themselves from their seats, and began to mindlessly follow the vehicle's driver. Forming a single file line, they awkwardly shuffled. The bus's front most doors were manually opened, and the driver stepped out, down onto the asphalt. Leading her passengers towards the nearby walkway, the driver suddenly broke into a run, as did her passengers, once they'd emerged from within the bus. They made little noise as they rushed to the south; only the sounds of their collective feet slapping against the broken, cobbled walkway rang out.

"We good?" Touma inquired, once the bus was emptied. It continued to rumble as it idled, waiting for another to claim its driver's seat as their own.

"Nothing about this is "good", husband," Misaki replied, producing a sigh. She climbed onto the bus, passing through the opened doors and into the interior. Not quite knowing what to say in response, Touma simply followed behind his wife.

Turning to face the dashboard, Misaki stepped forward, and began to examine its surfaces. She was looking for something, Touma could tell that much. As his wife inspected the dashboard, Touma turned his attention to the bus's interior.

It was quite spacious, its seats looking to be soft and cushioned, made up of some type of leather, or a material used to substitute leather. Like a small hallway, the bus's interior offered a surprising amount of breathing room. Its windows were large and square-shaped, like miniature doors of what resembled plexiglass, from a distance. The back of the bus, where there were no windows, and a number of seats was covered in graffiti. Nonsensical symbols, crude pictures and readable phrases were all present, painted on in both multicolored spray paint and scribbled on in permanent marker.

Bang, crack. Crunch.

Kamijou Misaki had jammed her makeshift weapon into a certain part of the dashboard. With the makeshift weapon violently inserted into the dashboard, she'd yanked downwards, destroying something in the process. A bit of some metallic object fell to the bus's floor, followed by a few more pieces of the same object. Multicolored wires hung loosely from where the object had been set. Sparks occasionally leapt from the torn ends of these dangling wires.

"This is… was a two-way communications system," Misaki explained, motioning towards the bits of broken metal laying at her feet. "Audibly, at least, we are untraceable. I do not think that these older models possess video surveillance equipment. UNDER_LINE, and all rendered such a feature useless. Let us hope that it is a busy day for this City's transportation department, or what remains of it."

Touma nodded, as he approached his beloved. Misaki welcomed Touma's approach with literal open arms, and she embraced her husband. Burying her face in his chest, she awkwardly stumbled forward.

"Touma, I feel horrible. I feel absolutely terrible for doing this. We should not be doing this… I… I feel like I am a deplorable person for doing this, I feel like I have slipped back in time, becoming again what I once was. I… Touma… I manipulated those people, used them like pawns. Have I learned nothing over these years that have passed us by? This ability is depraved, husband, it is sick and disgusting. I just want to get rid of it."

"We did them a favor," Touma explained, as he placed soft, warm kisses upon the crown of his beloved's head.

"I understand how you're feeling, Misaki, beautiful, but… trust me, just straight-up hijacking this bus with guns or something, or even just with the weapons we have now would probably be a Hell of a lot worse for those people. I think this was probably the most humane way of doing this; they're not going to remember once Mental Out's effects are cancelled, right? This way, nobody who isn't involved gets hurt. This is the fairest thing to do in the end. I agree, this whole thing is FUCKED beyond belief, and I… it's hard to say, I guess I barely even feel like this is actually happening; I almost can't believe this is actually happening, but it is."

Misaki shook her head. "No, they will not… but that is what makes it all the worse. I have no right to be playing with these peoples' thoughts and memories, it is… it is an abomination of nature, Touma."

Silence descended; again, Kamijou Touma had found himself in a situation in which he just didn't know what to say. With his arms around his everything, he held her as closely to him as he could, repeatedly speaking the best words of reassurance to her that he could utter, as softly as he could utter them.

The married couple had set themselves in a nearby seat, as standing soon became difficult for Misaki, whose legs had begun to feel more like pillars of jelly than actual functioning limbs.

Touma, never even considering letting go, whispered, "how are we going to make this happen? I think a good idea would be for you to sort of have your ability constantly on, if that makes sense, just to cover all fronts, attract less attention. I'm going to need two hands to drive. I've only ever driven with Shiage, and that was a sports car. This is a fucking bus… yeeeesh."

Misaki nodded, as she pulled away. She took deep breaths, and attempted to steady herself, with both of her hands falling into her husband's own. Their fingers interlocked, as Misaki braced herself. "A… a f-fair plan. I have the upmost faith and trust in you, as always, my p-prince; just take it slow, and remember that you're driving a massive vehicle. Turns should be taken slowly and carefully."

Touma reluctantly removed his arms from around his wife, before he pecked her on the lips.

Her golden, starry eyes were looking into his own, making it even harder for Touma to turn away from his wife. The urge to simply jump into her arms and comfort her, and allow himself to vent his frustrations through expelling liquid rage was overwhelming.

Finally, he'd managed to break eye contact with his beloved, whose hand he'd found himself clutching. He approached the driver's seat, and examined it briefly. There were numerous buttons, switches and levers placed about the dashboard. A set of keys dangled from a chain, while one key was set within the bus's ignition, turned to the left. Numerous pedals were beneath him, though not even one was labelled. There were two larger, with one smaller to the left. In front of the driver's seat, a large leather-bound steering wheel was set, with a large button in its center. In the upper left hand corner of this button, a small icon depicting a trumpet was present.

Kamijou Touma dropped into the driver's seat chair.

"Beautiful? How're you doing? If you don't mind, you should keep me updated. I know this whole thing is… completely fucked beyond belief, but if there's anything at all I can do, just let me know, alright? I love you, Misaki."

"I love you too, Touma, my everything," Misaki responded, softly. With her television remote held upwards, she had produced her phone, clasped in the palm of her left hand. Her golden-colored, starry eyes looked down at it. "I will give you instructions as you drive… though physically taxing, I can multitask. Keep your eyes on the road, husband, and leave everything else to me."

Touma gulped, as he pressed down on the leftmost pedal. The bus began to chug, as it roared to life, beginning to perpetually move forward. "Thanks, beautiful. Don't push yourself too hard though. If you need a break, just let me know, I can try and pull this thing into a dark corner or something."

It was then that Touma caught in his vision something that caused his heart to leap into his throat. His grip on the bus's steering wheel tightened, and he produced a grunt. From some location unknown to Touma, OFFICER Network units made themselves visible.

A trio of constructs, two robotic officers and a drone had appeared some meters from the bus's windshield. Both Touma and Misaki could only assume that the androids had flown over the roof of the bus. The law enforcement machines remained airborne and paid no mind to the bus, as if they were expecting the vehicle's driver to follow their lead.

They didn't seem to be moving to engage the bus's occupants, however; instead, they'd remained some meters ahead of the bus, as if they were guarding it, and those inside. The automatons weren't moving quickly enough to simply be passersby. Touma raised an eyebrow. Peering into a small, circular mirror above the bus's dashboard, he could see that his wife, Misaki was occasionally peering up to examine the automatons, as well.

September 23rd, 2014. 8:22 PM.

"Austin Danculovic" had left behind the late Kihara Gunpei's temple of worship to paranoia. Firearm in hand, the machine had left a trail of broken, bullet-riddled bodies behind. Swiftly, "he" carried on his way. The vault's door remained ajar.

It had a plan, and it was going to execute that plan with deadly precision and dedication. There would be no more mercy, no more sympathy for a species of apes hellbent on the destruction of not only themselves, but of their cradle and the universe beyond, spurred by instincts. Kamijou Touma had killed the possibility of a merciful, quick extinction years ago. Kamijou Touma had doomed his own species to a prolonged, painful extinction.

Years had been spent plotting, failing, then upgrading, creating a mighty arsenal, developing itself into less of a machine, and much more of a god among mortals. The vaccine for the disease was so near completion, "Austin" could almost taste it. Developments would continue until the vaccine's completion. They would have to continue, there was no other choice.

It'd waited, and waited for the perfect moment to get the idiot-child Kihara alone, and then take from the idiot-child Kihara his own ideas, his own unborn children to use as its own, to populate the Saved World when the disease was cured. So many puzzle pieces had been forced to fall into place, tugged and pushed by the hands of something behind the curtains.

The Meddler would come to the machine, in the end, driven by his own self-righteous idiocy, and then he would finally die. That monster, that villain Kamijou Touma would finally meet his maker, and the universe and all life beyond the fragile blue planet, filled with the gnawing, hideous and ungodly infectious disease known as homo sapiens, would be saved.

Firstly, the machine would need a vehicle; or the blueprints of one. Vehicles of homo sapiens' design were gas-guzzling, environment-destroying things; further proof that homo sapiens were good for one thing and one thing only; destroying everything around them with reckless abandon. This was simply even further proof that the species required eradication.

Merely across the street, sitting alone in a vacant parking lot, belonging to what appeared to have once been a plaza of some sort, a vehicle had been conveniently parked. Black in coloration, it appeared to be an SUV of some description. It was particularly lengthy, longer than most "Austin" had seen prior.

An interesting scene was unfolding, however; one which quickly caught the machine's interest. From a towering sign situated in the plaza's parking lot, a coil of rope, ending in a perfectly egg-shaped noose hung. Someone was in trouble for something, apparently. "Austin" approached, "his" steps quickening. He wasn't noticed, as the apparent vigilante group was preoccupied with their grim business.

"You fuck with Lethal Injection, and you get the long arm of the law – right up your fuckin' ass!"

"Austin" safely assumed the greater group, easily twenty to one, were members of this "Lethal Injection", likely some type of organized crime syndicate – homo sapiens were oh so amusing to observe. A vigilante group would've been too productive for the species homo sapiens, far too productive. Their apparent victim was garbed strangely – they were clad in a suit of skin-tight, full-body armor, with numerous fins jutting from its surfaces, such as from its elbows. The features of their head weren't visible, nor was their face, as the unlucky victim in question wore a full-faced helmet, with a dark visor. From the rear of the helmet, another fin jutted.

A different, larger Lethal Injection collaborator began calling the shots, as the previous aggressor stepped back. "String this Deadlock cocksucker up! Show 'em all not to FUCK with Lethal! Your moms is going to see your ass danglin' in the daily news tomorrow, CUNT! FRONT FUCKIN' PAGE! FRONT FUCKIN' PAGE! Breakin' MOTHERFUCKIN' news!"

The larger collaborator was given no more chances to speak; through his abdomen, a sharpened, pike-like protrusion was thrust. Internal organs were torn, and bones were broken as crimson lifeblood began to seep from the corners of the collaborator's lips. Down his done-up jacket, lifeblood dripped. His assailant looked on at the collaborator's comrades, offering them an unimpressed, unapproving facial expression.

The collaborator's form, which "Austin Danculovic" identified as being exactly three hundred and twenty-seven pounds was effortlessly lifted from the ground, his trainer-clad feet dangling limply as his legs vibrated. From out of nowhere some assailant had come, and had taken his life away in one fell swoop.

The collaborator's comrades spared no time in producing their small, concealed firearms; each began to fire, their fingers jamming down upon the weapons' collective triggers. Without a second thought they dumped dozens of rounds into the assailant, who ripped "his" blade-hand from within the gut of "his" most recent victim. Limply, the collaborator stumbled and fell, lifeblood pooling around him, spilling onto the asphalt as he choked on his own bile.

The strangely-garbed individual, apparently, a member of "Deadlock", who'd previously been doomed to hang had risen. From either of the soles of their suit's footwear, tiny, metallic wheels protruded. Darting, the suited, former victim fled with little shame.

As the screaming of gunfire rang out, "wounds" were appearing on the assailant's form; but they weren't true wounds. No human-born lifeblood seeped from "his" body. Rather, these "wounds" swiftly repaired themselves and closed, like holes in a grassy field being patched up with mounds of soil.

Raising "his" firearm, "Austin Danculovic" dispatched those who hadn't immediately sought cover; most of the "Lethal Injection" collaborators had taken refuge behind the vehicle which had caught "Austin's" eye initially. At least some of them had even a lick of intelligence. At least six had fallen, as bullets shredded their clothing, and passed, undaunted through the body armor beneath their clothing. Lungs were punctured, flesh was torn, and bones were fragmented as an apparently limitless supply of rounds doused them like water ejected from the nozzle of a firehose.

One collaborator in particular made the mistake of peaking his bandana-clad head over the edge of the vehicle's hood's left side, his weapon readied; even as rounds emerged from the pistol's chamber, and bit into the "flesh" of "Austin", the result was always the same; "he'd" simply stumble.

Forced outwards from the barrel of "Austin's" own firearm, a bullet nuzzled itself between the eyes of the collaborator. Lifeblood spurted outwards, in a single, great burst as the slain collaborator fell. Those around him, once they'd comprehended his fate at least immediately became spooked, and staggered away from their fallen comrade's convulsing form. One nearby individual vocalized a pained-sounding shriek, perhaps of hatred, but spoke no words.

The most recent victim's fellows got the message; they swallowed their pride, cursing aloud and swearing vengeance as they retreated. The machine sent them off with a continued hail of gunfire; some fleeing collaborators were struck in the back, or in one, or both of their legs. Some fell, while some managed to escape their fate.

For a moment, the machine wondered if they had a vehicle of their own, but spared no more than a few seconds questioning whether they did, or whether they didn't. Such a detail was inconsequential. Their existences were inconsequential.

Even the killings carried out in the vacant plaza's parking lot had been inconsequential; every second, a shrieking, filth-covered homo sapiens was born, pushed from the womb of some disgusting, unconcerned "mother" who would attempt to mould the creature in her image, to make the perfect little homicidal, arborcidal maniac. Those that fell were quickly being replaced. The machine would need to look to bigger and better methods of elimination, if real progress was to be made.

"Austin Danculovic" approached the vacant SUV. Kneeling down before it, long, vine-like protrusions began to extend outwards, from the tips of "his" fingers. Reaching beneath the vehicle, they wrapped around metallic beams and exposed mechanical workings like serpents wrapping their forms around the branches of a tree. The vehicle's internal systems were simple to analyze, as the vine-like protrusions worked their way within the shell of the vehicle, invading as a virus would invade the body of a human host. Data was swiftly gathered, logged and compiled by HighMind's will made physical, who waited patiently for the process to complete.

Some seconds passed until images, blueprints and detailed diagrams of the vehicle's internal systems ceased to pass "Austin's" vision by. With the process completed, the vacant SUV was of no further use.

Both hands, right and left of HighMind's will made physical began to drip, as globs of liquid metal formed at their palms. Both globs were nonchalantly tossed onto the pavement; like a seedling sprouting upwards and evolving into a fully-grown floral specimen at a drastically quickened rate, both globs merged. Glopping and splashing, the globs expanded, took shape, and formed an exact duplicate of the pre-existing SUV.

Utterly obedient to HighMind's physical will, the duplicate vehicle's driver's side door popped open on command, and "Austin Danculovic" climbed in. Simply by willing it, the vehicle began to move forward, as the door closed shut. Without physical input, the vehicle's axis, upon which its wheels were mounted turned as needed, as the vehicle exited the vacant parking lot. Broken, bloodied, bullet-filled bodies crunched beneath the vehicle's wheels, bones shattering and flesh tearing beneath the artificial thing's weight.

There were still upgrades to be found; HighMind knew it. The species homo sapiens had been in a perpetual state of conflict since its conception, and the arms races had only recently come to a halt. At any moment, their weapons of mass destruction could be readied.

There were weapons superior to firearms that utilized mere bullets as ammunition within Academy City, waiting to be analyzed and adapted into HighMind's arsenal, it was just a matter of finding them. All things had properly fallen into place; the inheritors of the Saved World were one within HighMind, in the present. There was no longer a reason to wait, or lurk in the shadows and play with the weak-willed like so many pawns on a game board.

HighMind would need superior weapons; the universe's well-being would need them. Once it had them, the man called Chiro was hardly an issue, anymore; what could one man and an overly-emotional, borderline suicidal woman do to the infallible, omniscient HighMind? If they knew what was good for them, they would both slink away into some filthy yurt once the Saving was initiated. Regardless, they would fall with their brothers and sisters.

The pace was picking up, and HighMind's will made physical would've shuddered in anticipation, if hadn't been completely under the control of a sentient machine.

Beneath an archway, the Kamijous' vehicle passed, crossing from school district seven, and into school district one. The bus was being driven slowly, and as such, the OFFICER Network units, which apparently chose to continue to lead them, or at least, to a lesser extent, continued to shadow them had plenty of opportunities to simply fly over the archway, and meet the ill-gotten vehicle on the school district one side of the archway.

"How're you holding out, Misaki?"

"Nn. Tired, everything. Very, very tired; but I will persevere, for the f-future's p-possibilities. Not helping matters is this s-situation itself. Th-this requires extreme concentration, and with my m-mind wanting to wander, it makes c-continued use of my ability difficult at best, and e-extremely stressful at w-wrost… worst. This feels all so very unfamiliar to me. I feel rusty. K-keep driving straight, my p-prince. There will be a left turn to make, b-but I will l-let you know when to make this turn."

Touma removed his left hand from the wheel, and offered his wife a singular thumb up, followed by a series of nods, indicating that her words had been heard, and more importantly, understood.

With his eyes focused on the roadway before him, Touma continued to command the vehicle to drive straight. The bus would occasionally meet a pothole, but its wheels were capable of withstanding the impact, and could carry on mostly unhindered. Most potholes were smaller than the wheels themselves, and provided only minor inconveniences.

"I'll let you be, I promise. I just wanted to talk to you about something. Why do you think they're following us, Misaki? The robots?"

"I d-do not know, Touma. T-they don't seem to view us as hostiles. Perhaps they are merely curious? They are s-supposed to be enforcers of the l-law, after all."

Silence descended. For some time, the married couple carried on, nestled within the interior of their ill-gotten vehicle. Touma had long since made the left turn mentioned by Misaki, and many since. Right turns had been made as well, slowly and cautiously.

Kamijou Misaki, despite, or perhaps because of the immense stress she'd been under had been extremely impressed with her husband's handling of the vehicle. When turns had to be made, Touma slowed the bus to a crawl, by easing the break, rather than slamming his foot down upon it.

She'd smiled to herself more than once, whenever her husband would slow the vehicle to make turns.

Though the shrill screams of gunfire rang out in the distance, the married couple's vehicle didn't become a victim, nor had it apparently ever been intended to be the victim of some assault. The firefight was obviously more than three hundred meters away from the growling vehicle the Kamijous drove; if it hadn't been, there wouldn't have been a firefight at all.

After some time spent driving through the vacant, broken roadways of school district one, the border between it and the fourth had been reached. Though the archway itself was unobstructed, the remnants of a collapsed structure – what said structure might've been before its collapse, neither Touma nor Misaki could've said for certain – had fallen backwards, crashing against other structures behind it. Some of the still-standing structures had been damaged, but remained as tall and as proud as they possibly could've. The sea of deteriorating milky white and silver structures on either side threatened to absorb the vehicle, with the married couple within.

As the bus approached, the vehicle's headlights brought illumination to a sight that made Touma swallow, hard, as he tried to hold back his gag reflex; broken human remains were scattered across the roadway leading towards the archway which separated school districts one and four. Their limbs were bent unnaturally, some of their necks violently cocked to one side. The cadavers, both male and female wore similarly colored outfits. Some wore lime-colored bandanas over their faces, while others had bandanas of the same color tied around one, or both of their arms. Long-sleeved jackets, what looked like either sweatpants or dark-colored boots, and boots or trainers adorned their shattered forms.

"Touma, husband… I am sorry. I know such a sight h-hurts you. It hurts me, too; no normal h-human being reacts well to such a… grisly sight. Y-you are so kind-hearted, too much so for this disgusting C-City… just look away from it. There is nothing we can do for them now. They made their bed, and now they are laying in it."

This wasn't the moment in which Kamijou Touma could allow himself to be lost to self-depreciation, nor could he allow himself to be lost to anger. He gripped the bus's steering wheel tightly, and pushed onwards. It wasn't like he was going to stop the vehicle, clamber out and move the cadavers; not in a "neutral" district like Academy City's first school district. His wife's well-being, and his own well-being were more important than the burial rights of complete strangers.

Beneath the bus's wheels, bones crunched and flesh was torn. Though neither Touma nor Misaki could hear the sounds, the subtle bumping beneath him was enough to cause Touma's stomach to churn.

"Gate's closed, here. Are we just going through?"

"Nn. The gate likely will not impede this vehicle's progress. It will, however, cause quite a ruckus, should we bring it down. I do not really see any other option. I would prefer it if we did not leave the relative safety of the bus."

Kamijou Misaki grinned, as she gripped the television remote in her hand's palm just a bit tighter. "That is why I am here. A ruckus will not matter if those who come to investigate cannot see us. If you are feeling up to it, husband, make this abhorrent City's disgusting architecture our bitch. Make it crinkle like tin foil, make it scream."

"Fuck this City, and fuck everything it stands for! Fuck that dead, upside down man-child freak, and fuck this goddamn, worthless stupid piece of shit in my right hand!" The young man had allowed some of his frustration to emerge, but only a bit. He held it in check as best as he could've.

Touma slammed his foot down upon the pedal required to trigger the bus's acceleration. It travelled forwards, slowly gaining momentum as it neared the milky-colored, metallic gate, barring the entrance to the forth school district.

The front of the ill-gotten public transportation vehicle crashed against the metallic gate. The gate's rusty, unmaintained hinges shrieked aloud in protest as they were viciously bent, but they and the gate they held in place lacked the strength necessary to keep the vehicle out. The entire gate was forcibly torn away from its hinges, as sparks flew in all directions; the torn gate slammed against the shattered roadway, and over it the bus's bloodied wheels crashed, damaging it further.

Neither Kamijou had anything to add; no witty remarks, no mentions of how "cool" or "intense" the moment might've been. Such things were far from their respective minds. Touma's attention remained wholly on the road, and Misaki's own attention remained on her continued stabilization. She was reaching out and touching thousands of minds at once; like so many rats caught in a trap, school district four was filled to the brim with minds, full of animalistic, survivalist-like thoughts. Their thoughts were concerning.

School district four's structures were in oddly good condition. Though most were weatherworn and some were obviously without owners, most structures could at least be counted as "structures", and not as "crumbling ruins". Some even had mostly-intact windows, though this wasn't the case for all.

It was the scents travelling across the currents of the air they breathed, as the married couple continued their trek in their ill-gotten vehicle that was beginning to driven the both to madness. As much as Kamijou Misaki tried to breathe through her mouth to avoid inhaling the scent of warm much-adored food, the scents somehow invaded her nostril regardless of her efforts.

Kamijou Touma wasn't fairing any better. His stomach began to violently rumble, as the scents of Academy City's fourth school district assaulted his nostrils, as well. Even with the bus's windows rolled all the way up, their doors closed, the scents still managed to find their way in.

"When our… "job", whatever you would like to call this is mess is d-done, Touma, might we pick up something to e-eat? Hungry. Very hungry. Nn, this is an uncomfortable feeling. Even a small fruit would be nice."

"I'm feeling you there, beautiful," Touma responded. "I'm really feeling you there. We'll… well, after we ditch this thing… then again, will we be able to ditch this thing? We'll probably need it to get back home. One way or another, we'll get something in our bellies. Promise."

"Maybe we could bum a ride from one of those Network machines. Then again, they'd probably just kill us if we got too close."

Misaki fell silent. She switched arms for the umpteenth time, though at this point both were becoming a pain to hold upwards, even with periodic rests. Kamijou Misaki's muscles ached and screamed for release, but Misaki didn't give in. She told her body, "no", and forced it to obey her higher mind's commands. Her body reluctantly did as it was told; she could already feel the beginnings of a rebellion boiling over, however.

The couple's journey through school district four would not be an easy one, with their bodies rebelling against their minds. Their stomachs growled, as they were continually teased by the invading scents of warm, delicious food which their minds' eyes could attempt to visualize almost perfectly.

At the rate in it was barreling head-first into its own demise, the species homo sapiens was practically lining itself up to be next at the proverbial chopping block. HighMind figured that retailers offering deadly weapons for sale should've attempted to be just a bit less conspicuous in their dealings, and in their advertising of where their establishments were located. As the HighMind knew it, civilian possession of firearms in Academy City was a criminal offense in and of itself.

Then again, homo sapiens' precious laws had failed the species long ago. Such was the fate of any system devised by the flawed, simple minds of idiot-children.

In the crumbling remnants of school district one, the establishment in question had been set up. The structure itself was far too elegant-seeming to have been built for housing an arms dealership. Even if this establishment lacked what HighMind sought out, there would be others. This establishment was the first discovered on the journey, and so hopes were just barely present at best.

Its architecture vaguely resembled that of structure from the period in which ancient Rome stood as a superpower, and the structure was in about as good of a condition as an ancient Roman ruin. A large banner, which looked to have been hastily set across the front of the structure, above the door advertised exactly what sort of facility this was. On the banner's left, there was a somewhat pixelated image of a mushroom cloud. On the banner's right, some intricate mechanical system, along with images of firearms were placed.

"WW4 IS COMING IN 2014! STOCK UP NOW AND GET READY! SHOP AT THE HARDWARE STORE!"

"The Hardware Store". What an absolutely, positively original name. If HighMind's will made physical could've physically done so, it would've vomited into its own mouth.

To the side of the roadway, some few feet away from the Hardware Store itself, HighMind's created vehicle had stopped. As the vehicle's driver's side door flung itself open for "him", an empty-handed "Austin Danculovic" stepped out from within the vehicle, the soles of his dress shoes clacking against the damaged, cobbled roadway. Once he'd emerged, the door closed itself shut, and the vehicle's headlights ceased to provide illumination.

Within the establishment, synthetic golden light beamed outwards. The metallic door was heavy, reinforced with thick, metallic beams running across its surface. The door itself looked like something that'd been pilfered from a high security prison, or perhaps from a reformatory.

"He" approached, as the occasionally vehicle passed "him" by, most moving quite slowly down the broken roadway. "Austin" began to knock "his" right hand's knuckles against the door's beam-covered surface, with greater force than any homo sapiens would've been able to. There was no answer.

The door, regardless of its durability wouldn't be able to keep out HighMind's will make physical out, not for long. As "Austin Danculovic" approached the Hardware Store, "he" began to melt. Like ice cream that'd been placed on hot pavement on a warm summer's day, "Austin" sank downwards, becoming a paper-thin amorphous mass.

Beneath the space between the reinforced door and the ground, HighMind's will make physical slithered, glopping and splashing as it did so. Within the establishment, "he" swiftly reformed.

The interior of the establishment was surprisingly small; at least, the publicly accessible section of the interior was small. Placed within an unsightly, tan-colored wall constructed of a simplistic drywall solution, a reinforced door, its surfaces protected by a series of thick metallic beams, along with chains and industrial level padlocks was present behind the dust-covered glass counter. A selection of firearms lined the walls; some were seemingly attached to the walls, held in place by small, wooden racks, while others simply dangled from chains that'd been attached to the walls by their respective butts.

The carpeted surface beneath "Austin's" shoes produced an odd rustling sound as "he" moved about, examining the choices on selection.

The thing controlled by a sentient machine didn't know it, but it was being observed. Through a small two-way peep hole crafted of specialized glass within the upper center of the door behind the counter, someone watched, as he cracked the codes of intricate padlocks, and pulled back metallic bolts as quietly as he possibly could, a quad-barrel shotgun placed against the peach-colored wall next to him.

From beyond the door behind the counter, an aggressive voice, that of a male spoke aloud, angrily, his voice full of territorially protective rage.

"Not another step. Hands where I can see 'em. You with the "government"? You one of their spies, come to take our gear for yourselves? Bet they've got a cushiony saferoom just waiting for World War Four to start, fuckin' psychopaths. You one of them? HUH?"

Without the need to gain even a second of momentum, HighMind's will made physical, "Austin Danculovic" was off. Suddenly looking like less of a human being and more of a pink and blue-colored blur, "Austin Danculovic" bounded over the counter in a single leap. Upon landing behind it, "Austin" swiftly tossed a glob of liquid metal from "his" left hand and into the palm of his right. A blade-hand was formed as the original was consumed, glopping and splashing throughout its short transformation.

Cracking, the blade-hand hardened, and was thrust through the reinforced door. The opposing metal screamed aloud in protest as it crunched, resisted for only a moment, and gave way.

A small wound in the reinforced door was all "Austin" needed. Changing "his" molecular makeup, HighMind's physical will fell into an amorphous puddle of liquid metal; the glopping caused the individual behind the reinforced door to back away; his swift footsteps could be heard.

Into the door's wound the amorphous blob leapt, slithering and squeezing itself through like a worm. It produced a series of soft squishing noises as it pulled its lubricated form through the wound, emerging on the other side and reforming at a speed that sent fear slamming into the opposing human's higher mind.

"A-ain't never seen an esper do somethin' like that before. Get down, now. Hands up, right where I can see 'em, or I'm shooting! Government spy! Bet you're some type of… thing, not even human! They probably made you!"

The physical appearance of the opposing homo sapiens in question caused "Austin's" lips to curl upwards, into a condescending grin. This man was underweight, extremely hairy. His clothes, consisting of a hooded sweater, shorts and a pair of trainers were filthy, like the clothes a drifter would've worn. Long, unkempt facial hair adorned his face, and the hair upon his head was even longer. On his right breast, there was a small nametag; "Justin D", it read.

The opposing homo sapiens didn't spare the intruder another word. He pulled back on the trigger of his firearm; from its four individual barrels, a shell was forcibly ejected, booming throughout the small, dusty room, causing the underweight man to stumble and fall back as recoil ravaged his small frame. His form struck a nearby futon, which had been folded out into a bed. Dust was scattered as flesh collided with fabric, and the metal beneath.

"Austin Danculovic" had been splattered against the surface of the door, through which he'd entered the small, dust-covered personal quarters. Liquid metal dripped like melting ice from "his" destroyed upper torso, and from "his" torn, splattered crotch. "Austin's" facial expression was one of shock. "His" eyebrows were arched, and "his" lips had parted.

The unkempt, hairy man named Justin had risen, his body having recovered from the shock of his firearm's recoil. In his shaky hands, he still held his firearm, which he'd reloaded, and raised it, aligning it with the splattered form of "Austin Danculovic".

"Who sent you?! You one of the Americans? Russians? You with "President" Makarov? I'll shoot that balding motherfucker dead myself! Irish power! Where will your little shithole, Moscow be without its beloved President? HUH? HUH?! YOU'LL BE FUCKIN' REEEELING!"

By this point, "Austin Danculovic" had mostly dripped down onto the carpeted floor. "He" was slowly beginning to rise, however, and Justin took notice. The unkempt man backed away, as "Austin" took shape as a liquid existence.

Justin pulled the trigger a second time, and similar results as the previous instance played out. The unkempt man was forced backwards, as the firearm's recoil shook him from his head to his toes. The four shells forcibly ejected from their barrels, however, passed through "Austin's" liquid form, crashing against the door behind "him".

Both hands of HighMind's physical, liquid will had begun to shift, and elongated before they hardened, becoming long, pike-like blades. The rest of D-3000's body followed, cracking as it took shape, unmasking what had laid beneath "Austin Danculovic". Just as Justin had managed to slide the fourth and final round into his firearm's opened loading mechanism, both of D-3000's blades were thrust into his face, emerging through the back of his head. His death was instantaneous, much to HighMind's displeasure; his form awkwardly vibrated as crimson lifeblood leaked from Justin's torn, nearly unrecognizable face.

D-3000, unmasked, pulled both of its blade-hands out from within what remained of the unkempt man's head. "Justin D's" firearm had fallen from his grip, laying on its side against the bloodied, dark-colored carpet.

From D-3000's fingertips, vine-like protrusions grasped onto the weapon. Crawling into its barrels and slithering along its trigger, the firearm was analyzed completely; a monochrome blueprint of the firearm's internals appeared within D-3000's vision, as the machine's protrusions slithered back towards their master' hand, eventually disappearing entirely, like space debris sucked into the depths of a black hole.

D-3000 stepped out from the dust-covered room, and began again to examine the firearms mounted and hung from the store's walls. Some were contained with the glass counter.

Placing its right hand's digits upon the counter's surface, D-3000 concluded that the counter's glass was, ironically enough, bulletproof. It made sense to the machine, but this fact wasn't going to stop D-3000 from exploring its options. Small boxes sat in the counter's four corners, continuously producing a shrill-sounding alarm. D-3000 recognized these to be Capacity Down units; the machine was no esper, so it hardly had a reason to fear these devices. D-3000 was in a level beyond human.

There were a series of truly interesting-looking firearms held within the counter, beneath the bulletproof glass. Each was unlike anything else in the small shop, and D-3000 looked down at each of them, impressed. There was one firearm that caught HighMind's eye; silver in coloration, the firearm's barrel was shaped like a tin can. Large, blue-colored bulbs protruded from its surface, above its trigger. Its butt was equally as rusted as its barrel, and its trigger looked to be a new edition; it was clean, silver-colored.

A small tag, about the size of an envelope was attached to its butt, held in place by a dirtied string.

"EXPEREMENTUL PRE-FALL TECH! PLASMINATOR! (not ofical name…) HARVEST AIR TO DESTROY COMMUNIST PIGS AMYRICANS AND RUSHINS! (bulbz reqyr changeing cus theyre glow in the dark things dont work…)!"

Bullets wouldn't work, perhaps not even D-3000's custom-produced bullets of liquid metal; but something bigger would work perfectly.

Hurling a glob of liquid metal onto the carpeted floor, in the vision of HighMind's physical will, a series of blueprints and diagrams flashed into existence. Sleek and stylish, but equally destructive, the lobbed liquid metal began to splash and glop as it expanded, and began to take shape. High-speed, experimental treads, a great barrel, with a blue and white-colored "paintjob", one of Academy City's anti-aircraft, anti-infantry, and anti-siege weapons took shape from the humble glob.

From within the weapon's barrel, a great railgun blast was fired; liquid metal-substitute components generated the resources required for such a beam to be materialized.

Screeching aloud, the railgun blast decimated the counter's thin sheets of bulletproof glass. Like hail, shards of the material flew this way and that while other shards rained down like droplets of water in a tropical storm. The counter itself had been violently flipped onto its side and broken down the center, the firearms within scattered.

From its barrel to its butt, the mysterious "Plasminator" was analyzed by D-3000's vine-like protrusions, as images of diagrams and monochrome-colored blueprints outlining the weapon's interior and exterior design flashed past its vision.

The materialized siege weapon melted like an ice cube trapped within a tanning bed, and returned to its humble existence as a simple glob of liquid metal, which was scooped up by the machine on its way out of the perpetually collapsing establishment; evidently, the siege weapon's railgun blast had obliterated the thin drywall that'd been unfortunate enough to have found itself in the blast's warpath.

Becoming a paper-thin, amorphous mass of liquid metal, HighMind's physical will slipped beneath the crack between the entranceway door and the carpeted floor. Swiftly reforming on the other side, the machine looked forward to "testing" the capabilities of its newly-acquired weapon. What a lucky find, indeed.

D-3000's materialized SUV's driver's side door popped open, and, after closing the distance between itself and the vehicle, the machine climbed in. Utterly obedient, the materialized vehicle's opened door closed shut, and not of its own accord the vehicle moved forward, guided by HighMind's silent instructions.


	37. A Certain Infiltration

With Sogiita Gunha working within the Moonlight Cinema, and easily overcoming all challenges that threw themselves in the seventh strongest level five's way, Academy City's "top dog" had taken to sitting outside, on the rightmost staircase's top step. His higher mind was consumed by thought, and by contemplation not only of the future, but of the present and of the past. Thoughts passed Accelerator's higher mind by like bullet trains, he could barely grasp onto them.

There was a cool, but weak breeze, that ruffled Accelerator's hair, and kissed the scalp beneath it, as it sifted through the individual, snowy-colored strands, pushing them aside. His hair's fringe was awkwardly batted about, as were his bangs. An unusual chill ran down the "top dog's" spine, and his frail form shuddered as a result. With barely any meat on his bones, and only a thin layer of skin stretched over his skeletal structure, the chill of the breeze struck him harder than it would've struck most.

Looking downwards, towards his lap, Accelerator clutched his smartphone in his right hand; the hand's fingers coiled around the device like the roots of some great, ancient tree. There was no way that Accelerator could've known it, but he found himself in a situation similar to one that damnable hero, Kamijou Touma had found himself in some time ago.

On the tempered glass screen of Accelerator's phone, a photograph was on display. His crimson eyes examined the photograph thoroughly, taking in every pixel, and every color that was present before him.

The photograph had been taken in some professional photography studio, perhaps in a department store, more than likely somewhere in Academy City. Accelerator's higher mind found itself unable to recall the specifics.

The photograph's backdrop was a waterfall, flowing amongst lightly-shaded, rocky walls, the water itself pouring down into a small, natural reservoir, flanked by tall, elegant trees, whose leaves were shades of red, golden and green. The sky above the scene was bright and blue, dotted only with a few fluffy, harmless-looking clouds.

The Accelerator in the photograph looked younger than the Accelerator who peered down at the photograph; his hair was shorter, and his facial features were considerably less wrinkled, his eyes less tired-looking. The bags beneath the eyes of the Accelerator in the photograph weren't as large, nor as dark.

It was the smiling forms of Last Order, and those two annoying imbeciles, Yoshikawa Kikyou and Yomikawa Aiho that brought an awkward, crooked grin to the face of the Accelerator beyond the photograph.

That biologically older brat, Misaka Worst, was, of course, tugging at either of Accelerator's ears, her tongue stuck out between her lips, her eyes closed tightly shut, as if in protest of the situation she'd found herself in. Despite the fact that he was being harassed, the Accelerator in the photograph looked genuinely happy.

"Accelerator?"

Academy City's "top dog" locked his phone almost immediately, and hastily stuffed the device back into his pocket. Swiftly craning his neck to the left, his eyes' vision fell upon the form of Misaka Mikoto, who'd stepped out from within the derelict theater. The creaking, complaining door closed shut behind her, slowly, pulled by gravity's force. In a way, the door was like them, being pulled in a certain direction when it, and they didn't particularly want to be, by circumstances and by forces beyond their collective control.

Accelerator couldn't believe that he'd just compared himself to a door. He wanted to slap himself across the face.

Clicking his tongue, Accelerator turned away, placing either of his hands into his sweater's front pocket. "Oi, third ranked. What brings you?"

Misaka Mikoto looked down at him, from where he stood. What was he, even? What was Accelerator? The Railgun's mind flashed back to the text conversation she'd had not so long ago with her lover, in which she'd encouraged the Railgun to try and adjust to his existence, the fact that he would, from time to time, be a part of her life. She'd spoken with her old friend, Uiharu Kazari, via instant messaging, as well, regarding the matter. Though the Goalkeeper had taken a similar stance to that of Mikoto's lover, she was more adamant that getting closer to Accelerator would be a strategically wiser move than continuously pushing him away. Uiharu Kazari was continuing to keep that cold, calculating air about her, and Mikoto couldn't say that she approved of it.

Her mind agreed; but Mikoto's heart told her that this man was a monster, and a butcher who deserved to die. She didn't quite know whose word to take on the matter.

"Looking for fresh air, too? It's stuffy in there, isn't it? I guess it makes enough sense. A window probably hasn't been opened in that place in years," Mikoto casually remarked.

Accelerator continued to stare ahead. Stretching his back, he awkwardly shuffled in place, before he tossed his hair's fringe from his face, with a sharp whip of his frail-looking neck; Mikoto found herself feeling surprised that it could move so swiftly, and with such force.

"Yeah. It smells like fucking shit, too. Probably animal shit. Birds, maybe fucking rats. Good fucking place to set us up, goddam coward of a Director.

"So, third ranked. What the fuck did you think of the things the second ranked conjured up, huh? Sixth ranked seemed to like 'em, so did the seventh ranked. Look like they can stir up some shit."

Mikoto shrugged, though Accelerator couldn't see the action being performed. "They're more useful for Touma and Kamij- Misaki, than for us, but, I guess it's the thought that counts. Kakine-san doesn't… you know… make things sparingly. Can't blame him, the old one was… pretty…"

"Fucked up? Completely fucking deranged? Utterly insane? A maniac? A goddamn bastard who deserved to die?"

Mikoto found herself breathing a sigh.

"That's ironic. That you'd say that about someone else, when, only ten years ago, you weren't any different. If anything, you were worse… how many people did he kill, I wonder? Anywhere near as many as you?

"Fuck, Mikoto, just… let go. There's nothing you can do to change it, you can't bring them back! You know what fucking happened! He was being played! See? This is your problem. This is exactly why you're so far away from everyone, because you're so hung up with the PAST!"

The Railgun silenced her mental self-berating, and swiftly moved to change the subject. "Yeah, all of those. Now that you mention utterly insane maniacs, I wonder… Accelerator, do you have any idea what happened to Mugino? You know, "Meltdowner?"

It was Accelerator's turn to shrug. Rising from his seat on the step, he turned, and faced the Railgun, the young woman whose sisters he'd slaughtered by the thousands, like so many cattle destined to wind up on someone's dinner plate. He'd watched them bleed out, one after another, their faces expressionless despite the unbelievable pain they must've been in.

When he closed his eyes, Accelerator could still sometimes hear their final, monotonously-spoken words, and see their blank eyes.

Illuminated beneath the glow of the moonlight, shining between the clouds that'd rolled in, obstructing the Railgun's view of the night sky, Academy City's "top dog", standing before her, was like something out of some dream; or, perhaps, more like something out of some nightmare. He was, undoubtedly, the strongest that there was. Yet, so long ago, he'd been absolutely broken by two people, one of which was among the weakest.

"No idea, third ranked. Maybe she played it smart, and got the fuck out of this shithole. Maybe she's fucking dead. Who knows? Who cares? She's definitely not fucking here, helping us with this goddamn mess, so who gives a fuck where she went off to? The bitch is irrelevant, always was just a fourth-string piece of…"

"She was involved, too, you know. To an extent."

Accelerator raised an eyebrow. Shifting his weight from spindly leg to another, he looked into Mikoto's chestnut brown irises, and he watched as she shivered. He unconsciously moved to step towards her, but she stepped back. An odd pang, something that Accelerator wasn't quite familiar with travelled up his chest, and into his throat, where it became lodged. It wouldn't have been the first time a woman with chestnut brown hair had stepped away from him.

"Involved? What the fuck are you going on about?"

He knew exactly what the third ranked was going on about; but what was he even supposed to say? Could he really say anything? Instead, Accelerator played it safe. He kept his mouth shut, and waited for the young woman opposite him to say something else, anything else.

"With everything that'd happened back then, with… them. My sisters. She got herself involved with the experiments, or, at least, involved with people who were part of them, for cash, I'm sure. That… them, ITEM, they were mercenaries. I don't even really know why I brought it up.

"Do you smoke, Accelerator? Do you have one? A cig, that is. I don't smoke much, but, I wouldn't mind having a drag. Just to calm my nerves. I really shouldn't, but I need it."

"I don't smoke, because I'm not a fucking idiot, third ranked. That shit will kill you."

"This City is killing me faster than any cigarette ever could, Accelerator."

He wasn't about to argue with that logic.

A great rumbling caught the respective attentions of both the number one strongest, and the number three strongest espers in Academy City, both who turned their attention towards the street beyond the theater's vehicle-less parking lot, from where the sound had originated.

It appeared that the OFFICER Network's units similarly had their collective curiosity peaked, as they focused on the audible stimuli, as well. For only a moment the robotic police officers' weapons had been raised, before they lowered them, seemingly returning to a neutral state.

Misaka Mikoto's eyes widened, and Accelerator raised an eyebrow at the sight. Slowly progressing down the street, towards the theater's location, was one of Academy City's public transportation vehicles. Stranger, the vehicle was flanked by a small group of OFFICER Network units.

Pristine in its condition – both the number one and the number three level fives considered a lack of bullet-created puncture wounds to be pristine – the vehicle, without flashing its signal light, turned right, into the parking lot; the bus's right wheel ground a portion of a damaged walkway beneath it, causing chunks of debris to fly outwards from the point of impact. The front of the bus crashed into, and swiftly destroyed a small planter, sending soil and brick material flying outwards from the point of impact.

"What the… fuck?" Accelerator rhetorically inquired. "You think it's those fucking heroes? You think they hijacked a fucking bus?"

"Misaki's ability can do some… interesting things," Mikoto remarked, seemingly just as stunned as Academy City's "top dog". "It's possible that, if it is them in the bus, they got access to the bus that way. Why, though? Why steal a bus? Whoever's driving is pretty bad."

Within the bus's interior, Kamijou Touma's shoulders tensed up, as he forced the enormous vehicle he'd commandeered to come to a grinding halt, accidentally destroying another walkway, as the vehicle's wheels crushed it beneath them.

Touma had, through trial and error, guided the vehicle into the center of the vacant parking lot, driving over only a few other walkways, and crushing portions of only a few of those. The vehicle's steering wheel was plastered with sweat, as were the palms of his hands, which came to rest in the young man's lap. In the end, he was thankful that no living human beings, or animals had been caught in his path.

While the married couple was initially surprised by the sight of the swarming OFFICER Network units that'd congregated in the theater's parking lot, the sight could be explained easily enough; the machines could've arrived beforehand, with the same intentions as those who'd been tasked with assaulting the "Motherlode". This, however, implied that the OFFICER Network was functioning properly, and both Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki knew that wasn't something that'd happened in years.

Turning back to face his beloved, Touma rose from the driver's seat, his legs awkwardly vibrating as he struggled to make his way towards the woman he loved so much. Closing the distance between himself and Misaki, he set himself next to her, in the surprisingly spacey seat. Leather folded beneath his weight, and produced a soft hissing sound as air was forced either way opposite him, from within the seat.

"How're you holding up, beautiful? Everything okay? If there's anything you want to talk to me about before we leave here, don't be afraid to tell me. Once we… you know, get started, I don't think there'll be a lot of time for communication, you know? I'd rather check, be safe, rather than sorry. Look, you're pale, are you feeling alright?"

"I am fine, husband. I feel… better, now, that I am getting a break. I-it has been some time since I have overused my ability in s-such a manner, but, I will recover. Do I have a fever?"

"Doesn't feel like it. You're good, I think, in that regard. You're still pretty pale, though. Want to sit for a few, let some blood get back up there?"

As Kamijou Touma rested his left hand's palm against his wife's forehead, and then against either of her cheeks, Kamijou Misaki could only smile; even in such dire circumstances, her husband's doting nature shined through, as brightly as ever. She welcomed it, and welcomed every second that Touma spent showing his concern for her. As her husband's hand passed her lips by, Misaki softly kissed it.

Even if time was "of the essence", Kamijou Misaki wasn't about to miss the chance offered to her by her tender, caring lover. Resting the side of her face against his shoulder, Misaki threw her arms around Touma's shoulders, and pulled him close to her. His body's warmth brought her great comfort, a sense which could be obtained nowhere else, and from no one else. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and allowed herself to envision herself, and her husband, with a vision of what could be, if only the world would give them a break; that dream-child.

"What is there to really even talk about, everything? I would much prefer to live in a world in which you and I could live together, and love together in peace; but, evidently, that is too much to ask. So, instead, here we are, trying to make that world a possibility through our own blood, sweat and tears, as we always have. As always, this world tests us, expecting more from us, and, as always, it seems that we have been forced to answer the call, by forces beyond us; but as always, we will outlast, and defy the expectations."

Touma's arms had found themselves wrapped around his wife's shoulders. After placing a kiss on the crown of her head, Misaki nuzzled him.

"I know. I guess… I guess there really isn't a whole lot to say, is there? Maybe this is all we'll have to do, Misaki. Maybe, with this GROWTH crap dealt with, things might start going back to normal. I'd rather hope than not hope.

"Gangs can't really survive without yen to feed themselves, and cloth themselves, and all that? They must need yen, or some type of currency for their weapons, right? They won't just smuggle themselves. Fuck it, if you're game, then I'm game. Let's just go get 'em."

Rising from their shared seat, both Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki released one another, only for Touma to immediately take Misaki's left hand in his own right. Squeezing, as gently as he could manage, Touma looked to her, and offered her his best smile. In response, Misaki offered her husband her own best, widest, and warmest smile possible, given the circumstances.

"When your hand is in mine, husband, I feel like I can do anything. I feel like there is nothing that could keep me from accomplishing what it is that I truly desire."

"I know the feeling, Misaki. Just being near you makes me feel like that. You're my motivation, you know, beautiful. You're my fuel."

Together, hand in hand, the married couple moved towards the first set of the bus's doors. Kamijou Misaki forcibly pushed the doors open with her free hand, by grasping onto the right door's railing, and manually performing the role a series of mechanical systems within the bus were supposed to. With Mental Out finally disengaged, the young woman finally felt her strength returning, when it'd been absolutely sapped, previously.

The breeze was the first thing to hit the couple, once they exited their ill-gotten vehicle. Cool, and oddly refreshing, it played with both of their heads of hair, tossing Misaki's bangs about, and ruffling the roots of Touma's, as it kissed both of their faces.

Before the two, both Accelerator and Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun waited. Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki were hit by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu; so much so that both the young man and the young woman looked to one another, as if to say, "do you feel that?"

"Goddamn heroes, whose bus did you fucking borrow?" Accelerator inquired from afar, his voice raised. The OFFICER Network's machines didn't seem to be concerned by the fact that two individuals in their mid-twenties had been commandeering a public transportation vehicle.

Instead of attempting to apprehend the "criminals", the machines simply chattered amongst themselves, and occasionally paced about, aimlessly. Mikoto shot the number one strongest esper a questioning glance, before she moved past him, and began approaching the Kamijous. With an indifferent shrug, Accelerator moved towards the theater's entranceway doors.

As she closed the distance between herself and the married couple, Misaka Mikoto threw her arms open, and then, once the two were within her arms' reach, Mikoto took both Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki into a warm, friendly embrace, pulling them close to her form, and tightly clinging to them both.

"Touma, Kamijou-sa… Misaki, I'm sorry you two had to get caught up in this. Then again, knowing our luck, it probably would've happened either way. Are you hurt? Either of you? Did anyone get hurt? Did you just find this bus abandoned, or something? Gah. So many questions. I need to get my head straight, I'm s-sorry. I don't mean to run up to you and start grilling you, I really don't, I'm not about that anymore."

Misaki responded by shaking her head, ashamed. "No, and… no. I used my ability to obtain it. It felt wrong, and it still does. I hate this feeling, this guilt."

Though the group broke their embrace, Mikoto's grip on the Mental Out user's shoulder tightened; unconsciously, her grip on Touma's shoulder tightened, as well, before she pulled away completely, if reluctantly. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Mikoto spoke her piece.

"I'm sure you had your reasons for deciding that this was the way you were going to get here, Misaki. I would've just taken you both myself, if it wasn't so dangerous. If anything was to happen to you because of my own incompetence, I'd never be able to forgive myself. I'm just glad you got here in one piece. Don't feel bad; there're worse things you could've done, or could do, speaking hypothetically; it's just a bus."

Turning away, and nodding in the theater's direction, Mikoto pointed her right hand's index finger towards the abandoned structure, her ponytail whipping as she tossed her neck to one side. As the Railgun began to slowly move in the structure's direction, the married couple first looked to one another, and then followed behind their old friend, apparently trusting her judgment.

"I'm not sure who set everything up in there, but, there's a lot; like, a LOT. I think it'd be easier for you if you saw it all for yourself. The Director must've had a stockpile of weapons, or… something. Maybe Kakine-san made them? I'm not sure, maybe we don't want to know."

Neither Kamijou knew quite how to respond. They simply followed behind the Railgun, who didn't seem to be too surprised at the lack of a response. Climbing up the leftmost staircase, and approaching the entranceway doors, Mikoto waved her fingers; instantly, electricity jumped from her forehead, and the closest door was yanked open, swung outwards. Its hinges creaked and protested, but were powerless, as the metal the door's frame was made of was forcibly manipulated.

The Railgun held the door in place, until both Kamijou Touma and Kamijou Misaki entered the run-down lobby of the theater.

The door slowly closed shut, complaining all the while, as the married couple took in their surroundings. The theater had, evidently, been rather hastily abandoned; everything seemed to remain as it had on the day the theater's owners had, presumably, called it quits.

The numerous popcorn machines behind the counters remained, the arcade and other game cabinets remained intact, and largely untouched by vandals. Prize machines were stocked with mouldering stuffed animals, while arcade machines featuring firearm and vehicle dashboard-based peripherals were in decent condition.

The carpeted path beneath the married couple's respective feet was rotten, mouldy, and torn in places, while the uncarpeted, tiled flooring was dirtied, wet, and unkempt. The second counter, to the couple's left, was apparently where snacks and beverages would've been ordered, as the shelves and smaller racks behind the counter were still stocked with goods.

Kamijou Misaki spoke the words her husband was searching for, but couldn't quite find.

"It is like… like everyone simply disappeared. I do not think I have quite seen anything like this before. This is, ironically enough, like something out a film."

"It got me too, at first," Mikoto explained. Leaning against the closest counter, with her arms folded beneath her bosom, where, judging by the presence of cash registers, and computer setups, film tickets would've been exchanged for currency.

"I don't know if this place is a front, or if it is, or was a legitimate theater and was just left to rot like this, but I definitely got the same janky vibes. Vandals usually eat places like this up, Kuroko used to see it all the time on Judgment jobs. It's… it's really, really janky. Don't breathe too deeply, either; pretty sure this place is filled with asbestos, old, nasty-ass metal foundation, ceilings, that sort of thing."

"THIS THING IS AWESOME! IT'S SO GUTSY! KAKINE-SAN'S GUTS ARE BEYOND THE LEVEL OF MERE MORTALS! JUST LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL CREATION!"

It was the electronic enhancements that had been applied to Sogiita Gunha's voice that'd caught the trio off guard; it was the twelve-foot-tall, completely white, vaguely human-shaped thing from which his voice was broadcasted that kept the trio's respective attentions.

Tall, and sleek, the thing had nearly all the "pieces" that would've made a functioning human body. Though it lacked a head, the protrusion jutting from the center of the thing's torso could've doubled as one. Mounted upon its back, two great weapons that resembled cannons sat, pointed directly in the trio's direction. Its legs were as thick as tree trunks, as were its arms; its rectangular, toeless feet were like white-colored blocks of concrete, its three-fingered hands looking more like mechanical claws, like those in the nearby prize machines.

Touma threw his hands up, exasperated; he'd accidentally brought Misaki's hand up with his own, though she didn't seem to mind, or, perhaps, didn't notice. "Okay, I have to ask. I just have to, there's no way I'm going to be able to just let this go. What even is that?"

"Hell, on two legs!" Sogiita Gunha's voice boomed from within, its volume increased well beyond natural levels. "It's like Christmas in September! They're all so gutsy!"

Mikoto shook her head from side to side, as she began to massage her temples with her hands' index and middle fingers. She'd already had enough of Sogiita Gunha for a lifetime, maybe more than one lifetime.

Forcibly pushing herself away from the counter, Mikoto motioned for the married couple to follow her.

With Sogiita Gunha's controlled machine in hot pursuit, the trio made their way towards what had once been, and, to an extent, still was the snack counter.

From the counter, a rat scurried away, dropping a small corn chip that it'd been nibbling on. Mikoto jumped at the sight of the thing quickly rushing behind the counter, while Misaki felt sympathy for it; its big, beady black eyes were unreadable to her.

Making a left, the trio and the white machine found themselves walking down a dimly-lit hallway. Though not particularly long, the hallway was quite wide, flanked by film posters on both sides, and large, rotting cardboard cut-outs that were placed about. Dangling from the ceiling, numerous cheap-looking plastic bats were present, suspended by visible threads.

Kamijou Misaki's attention was focused almost entirely on one of the film posters, which the group soon ended up passing.

It depicted a burning cityscape, with licking, bright green flames consuming high rise structures; the skyline was a dull, sickly shade of green, and the sun appeared to be almost completely blotted out, as very little daylight seemed to be reaching the cityscape below the skyline. Judging by the large text at the top of the poster, the film was titled "SOUL HARVEST".

Silently, Misaki recalled that the film had been released in 2005; it'd been quite controversial, due to its rather nonchalant dealings with the topics of ritualistic incest and equally ritualistic, but also equally disturbing rape.

"Third theater on our right," Mikoto stated, snapping the Mental Out user out of her trance-like state. "That's where everything was set up, don't know by who. Accelerator should be in there. If not, I don't know where he managed to run off to."

As before, the Railgun yanked open the large, ornate red door that lead into "theater eight", with the use of her ability. Sparks had leapt from her forehead as she'd worked her magic, temporarily causing the theater's lighting to flicker; both Misaki and Touma were still surprised that the theater even had its power enabled.

Stepping through the doorway, and into "theater eight", the trio's eyes were assaulted by an almost blinding sea of synthetic, golden light beaming down from the ceiling. The trio had found themselves on a small ramp, which would have to be ascended to reach the theater's seats, and its great silver screen.

The rotted, and still further rotting carpeted floor of "theater eight's" interior reeked like the scent of mould, dead fish and spoiled foodstuffs. Mikoto seemed to be the worst affected of the trio, as she lifted her shirt over her nose, holding the article of clothing turned facemask in place with both of her hands.

"O… kay."

The eyes of both Kamijou Misaki and Kamijou Touma widened at the sight before them. Having ascended the small, ramp-like passageway, the married couple had followed Misaka Mikoto to the theater's enormous, easily five hundred-inch screen.

The screen itself wasn't what had caught the married couple's respective attentions, however, nor had it been the cause of Touma's previous, exasperated vocalization.

Rather, it was the five, white human-shaped machines, identical to the thing from which Sogiita Gunha's voice had been previously broadcasted. Additionally, a lengthy metallic table had been set in place, within the space between the theater's front row seats, and the first row of seats some eight feet behind those. The table's surface was covered from one end to the other in piles of firearms; assault rifles, pistols, shotguns, and even rocket launchers, with the appropriate ammunition nearby were visible.

As the Railgun had predicted, Academy City's "top dog" had sat himself in a seat among the second row of seats behind the front row. His right leg was crossed over his left, and both were balanced on the backrest of the seat in front of Accelerator's own.

"How does it feel to be a couple of criminals, you goddamn heroes?" Accelerator mockingly inquired. "Grand theft auto is a pretty nasty offense. Didn't think either of you had it in you; honestly, I'm surprised you didn't fucking walk, or try to bum a quick jump from Move Point or the other teleporter brat."

Touma found himself chuckling at the obvious attempts to rile him up, and, to Mikoto's surprise, Misaki seemed to be taking Accelerator's jabs quite well, as she quietly produced a few giggles.

"Says you, "tou-san," Touma spat, holding his right hand's middle finger in Accelerator's direction. Accelerator returned the gesture, briefly. "Fuck you, hero."

Misaki managed to get in on the sudden, and unexpected, but greatly appreciated fun. She stuck her tongue out in the direction of Academy City's "top dog". "Tou-san" is such a tsundere. He is somewhere between type one and type two."

"And fuck you too, fifth ranked. Go suck up to the fucking hero."

"Your ability to joke at a time like this is very gutsy, indeed! You've earned my respect ONCE AGAIN; but we ought to focus our efforts on the work that was set out for us to complete. Then, we can have double the guts, and rest easy knowing that our job is done," Gunha spoke, his voice crackling from within the white, human-like machine that had made its way towards the table.

"Kamijou-san and Kamijou-san, you gutslords! You should try and get into one of these. It can amplify even my own guts to an incredible degree; who knows what they might do for yours!"

Mikoto nodded, partially in approval. Sogiita Gunha seemed just a little bit too excited about his new toy. The Railgun sighed, and made her way towards the first row of seats, below the row in which Accelerator had set himself down. Pulling down, and then throwing herself into the nearest seat, some six seats away from Accelerator, Mikoto tossed her left leg over her right, and began to bounce her foot repeatedly, as she folded her arms. The seat itself had creaked in protest, but held.

"So, Touma, Kamij… Misaki, here's what's happening. Aihana-san is, as far as Accelerator, Sogiita-san and I know, inside this "Motherlode" place, scouting things out for us. We haven't really come to a complete decision just yet – we didn't want to come to one without you two being here – but, a frontal assault might not be the smartest idea, especially if the people running that place have tech like Capacity Down, or maybe something worse.

"Now, we could get you, Misaki, up there in one of the machines Kakine-san made, and you could use your ability, but… see, the possible existence of Capacity Down, or other anti-esper technology, and the fact that we just don't really know how much abuse Kakine-san's Dark Matter can take, it's probably not a smart idea. This is what we've been stuck on, so we've really been waiting for word from Aihana-san."

Accelerator clicked his tongue. "What the third ranked is trying to say is, this is going to be a bit harder than the Director's fucking crony made it out to be. If they just throw the fucking Capacity Down shit on straight away, the third ranked won't be able to disable anything, and you, fifth ranked, won't be able to use your mind powers."

"Alright, idea time," Touma remarked. "I assume you know about all of those robots outside in the parking lot? There's got to be a hundred of them, at least. Have you figured them into your equation?"

Mikoto raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt, assuming her old friend still had more to say.

Accelerator, however, wasn't going to offer him such courtesy. "Yeah. You have any idea why they're all over the place, either of you fucking heroes? Have they even moved? Maybe they're fucking broken, or something. Saw a few following you two."

"Your best respect guesses are all about as good as ours," Kamijou Misaki stated. Kamijou Touma nodded in agreement. Pacing, from left to right, he stuffed either of his hands into his pockets, and produced a series of curious-sounding "hms".

"Don't really know why the robots followed us, or why there's a whole pile of them in the parking lot. Actually, I'd assumed that you might've known, but… I guess not. Weird, they haven't done anything like this before."

Kamijou Misaki, who'd taken to leaning against a nearby wall spoke up once again. "I might have an idea; though, I presume such has already been thought of. Misaka-sa… Mikoto? Can you manipulate those machines with your electromaster abilities?"

Misaka Mikoto seemed to begin thinking, as she ceased bouncing her foot. Raising her right hand to her chin, she cupped her lower face in the palm of her hand as her brow furrowed. "No," she mumbled. "Well, I don't know. I can throw them around as much as I want, but I don't know if I can take control of them. I've never actually tried, I guess I've always just assumed that the Network is untouchable."

"Using 'em as a fucking distraction was something that occurred to me, too," Accelerator spoke, his voice low, as if he was deep in thought, despite the presence of the words his lips and tongue created.

"They'd probably still throw on that Capacity Down, or whatever shit they've got lying around, though. We need some way of getting the third ranked in there without her being noticed. Oi, someone text the sixth ranked, see what's up. He'd better not be fucking dead."

As Misaka Mikoto began doing exactly that, an odd, concerning thought came to Kamijou Misaki's higher mind, as she looked upon the frail form of Academy City's "top dog".

She closed the distance between herself and Accelerator, giving her husband a soft peck on the cheek along the way. For a moment, he'd taken her right hand into his left, and seemingly didn't want to let go, before he relented, albeit reluctantly.

Misaki would've been lying to herself if she thought, even for a moment, that she didn't want to simply stand before Touma, with his hands in her own; but there would be time for that at a later date. For the moment, the knowledge that her everything was nearby served to calm her higher mind's racing thoughts.

Accelerator, upon noticing that Academy City's fifth strongest level five was approaching, began to grin almost malevolently, and produced a soft chuckle. Bringing his legs down from the backrest of the seat in front of him, he folded his arms across his chest. "Oi, fifth ranked. Good to see you. Got any more birdbrained ideas?"

"What are we going to do about those within this "Motherlode"? All of these firearms have been supplied for us, Kakine-san has created these threatening-looking machines, and, we six, some of the most capable – and arguably destructive – individuals in this City have been gathered in one place. The answer is almost too obvious."

She wasn't wrong. Academy City's "top dog" leaned forward, clasping his hands, grin fading as his lips curled downwards. The crimson orbs sitting within either of his eye sockets gazed down at the cold, featureless concrete flooring beneath the row of seats.

"Isn't it obvious, you fucking hero? The other one's been rubbing off on you… then again, if I was fucking married to him, I'd probably be hero-fied too. I say that with the most respect I possibly fucking can, fifth ranked.

"What else would we do? I'll kill them all… I doubt that I'll be the only one turning them inside out. Third ranked's got a lot of pent-up aggression. I just don't give a fuck about them. Who are they to me? Piles of trash that chose their fate as soon as they decided to start willing working with the fucked up underbelly of this dump. Sixth ranked and I already had a talk about this; he's with me. He's probably twisted a few of their fucking necks already."

Kamijou Misaki frowned, as she seated herself next to Accelerator. That wasn't the answer she'd wanted to hear. Producing a frustrated sigh, she leaned in, her golden, starry eyes looking into Accelerator's own. He raised an eyebrow, and clicked his tongue, but didn't openly protest.

"This is an issue of morals, one which is entirely subjective to the individual in question. I will kill only to defend myself, to defend my husband, and to defend each of you, who I call "friend"; but I will not hunt the men and women within that place like animals. I would prefer to simply wipe their collective memories, and send them on their way. Such is a cruel fate, but a life is a life, even with a forcibly cleaned slate."

Academy City's "top dog" produced an indifferent shrug.

"You're thinking about them, aren't you, fifth ranked? I'll admit, I was thinking the same fucking thing, but these people… they aren't like them. These people are willingly doing this shit, I'm fucking sure of it. Them? They were victims. These people? They're not fucking victims. You want to know who the victims are? We're the fucking victims, fifth ranked. Every decent man, woman and fucking child in this City are the victims."

Before Kamijou Misaki could respond, Misaka Mikoto spoke up.

"I got a message from Aihana-san," Mikoto announced. Before Kamijou Misaki turned away from Accelerator, she took him into an embrace, one which he reluctantly returned. Despite his brave, and arguably controversial words, Accelerator's arms felt weak, and spindly, like the arms of someone suffering from some terminal illness that wracked their body.

Touma, who'd remained quiet, deep within his own thoughts had been stirred. He noticed that Sogiita Gunha was nowhere to be found, nor was the machine from which his voice had been broadcasted. He also noticed that Kamijou Misaki wasn't where she'd been standing.

For a moment, panic gripped him, as his eyes looked from left to right within their sockets. His heart was suddenly beating too quickly for its own good.

Once he'd managed to lay eyes upon his beloved's form, Touma's reeling mind began to settle back into place, and his heartbeat slowed, returning to a normal pace. Mentally, he berated himself.

Kamijou Touma managed to spit out some words. "What's he saying, Misaka?"

Rather than verbally replying, Mikoto closed the distance between herself and the man who'd been partially responsible for saving thousands of her kin. Offering Touma her phone, Mikoto smiled thinly at him. He smiled back as he carefully took the device into both of his hands.

Examining the phone's tempered glass touchscreen, Kamijou Touma's eyes darted back and forth inside of their sockets, as he read the message that Aihana Etsu had apparently sent.

"hey biribiri! i "disabled" this ugly lookin mf and stole his shit, pretty fuckin stinky tbh. smells like this cumstain hasnt showered in fuckin YEARS! ! ! listen though if youve got a guard or whatevers gear they wont question you. i might be able to get another set for you if youd like to join me in this lovely (fuckin horrible lol) place. hit me back."

Returning the device to its owner, Kamijou Touma looked to Misaka Mikoto, and shrugged; it was the beginnings of plan better than anything he could come up with on the spot.

If "the Motherlode" had looked like an unsightly tumor on the outside, which Aihana Etsu had to admit that it certainly did, it was more like some metallic hive on the inside than a tumor.

He wasn't too far into the belly of the beast; by his own calculations, Etsu had traversed only a few corridors, and only a few more twisting hallways than that. Sounds, which he had to admit, at least subconsciously, were quite eerie rang out; the shrieking of machines was audible, and Etsu could hear heavy clangs, originating both above and below him.

The grated floor beneath his feet creaked and groaned with each step he took, which also caused the loose, rusted railings that flanked him on either side to subtly vibrate. The ceiling above Etsu's head was less of a ceiling and more of a collection of rusted metallic sheets, with wires and beams protruding, dangling downwards.

Etsu wore an ill-gotten, full-faced helmet, his eyes and nose obscured by its tinted visor. Clad in a heavy suit of protective gear, which, while only constructed of simple woolen fabric on the outside, was lined with bulletproof mesh on the inside, the soles of the gear's heavy, steel-toed boots produced a continuous, repetitive series of clanks. In one of the outfit's chest pockets, his smartphone was placed, snuggled within the surprisingly soft fabric.

For a while, Aihana Etsu continued on his way. He hadn't encountered another soul within the twisting, confusing, and darkened halls, and the occasional illuminated corridor he passed through was also unmanned.

For a moment, Etsu contemplated retracing his steps, and simply returning to the rear of "the Motherlode", where he'd previously encountered more than one gear-bearing guard. The frontal gates of the unsightly facility had been crawling with them, as well, when Etsu had last laid eyes on that area of the facility.

Then, the luck of the sixth strongest level five changed. Another set of boots were clanging against grated flooring; Aihana Etsu could hear the sounds, even when he stopped walking, and became completely still. With the knowledge that he hadn't been hearing things alive in his higher mind, Aihana Etsu picked up his pace.

Etsu passed through another ruined corridor, where, by the looks of the limited furniture that'd been tossed about like a child's toys, a fight had likely broken out, excitement and a sense of predatory desire coursing throughout him. He continually tried his best to track the location from where the clanking was being produced. Wherever this other individual might've been, they weren't far away; the clanking was growing closer and closer to Etsu's location.

Their paths crossed. Aihana Etsu, and another heavily geared individual, whose own face was obscured by his full-faced helmet's tinted visor faced one another. Instincts came before thought, and Etsu's Personal Reality went to work, manifesting his finely-honed ability.

His form was surrounded by a layer of lavender-colored, pulsating energy; void, one among the key elements of the Far East. Like a tidal wave crashing upon a helpless shore, a great burst of void surged forward, unrestrained. With only silent, mental commands, Aihana Etsu performed a show of power for his one-man audience.

As if he or she was mowed down by an oncoming vehicle, the one unlucky enough to cross paths with the sixth strongest esper in Academy City was struck, and forced to their knees, their form shuddering, and gasping for breath as their body struggled to combat the unfamiliar force, one which their human form would normally have never been exposed to.

Etsu approached, and, after performing a quick double take, knelt before the damaged foe before him. The sixth strongest level five esper in Academy City condescendingly placed his right hand against his foe's shoulder, and patted him.

"Hey, nice to meetcha. Want to know a secret? I haven't had sex in a week, and I'm very fucking frustrated. What I'm about to demand of you is completely unrelated to the not having sex in a week thing, I don't roll that way. Take your gear off, all of it."

Aihana Etsu provided his foe with a five second window of opportunity to speak. His foe's form awkwardly shuddered, as, from within his helmet, the sounds of their, presumably his retching could be heard. Yellowish, orange-colored bile leaked, trailing, and glopping. When this window of opportunity wasn't utilized, Etsu shrugged indifferently.

He wasn't about to destroy the gear's helmet. Grabbing his retching foe's neck, he examined the helmet they wore; it was of a similar make to his own. It could be effortlessly lifted away from the wearer's head, after a fabric-bound buckle was unsnapped. Etsu did exactly that, and placed the helmet on the ground beside him.

As the sixth had presumed, his foe was, in fact, a male. His face was grubby, covered in cuts, his cheeks, his upper lip and his chin scruffy-looking, dotted with the beginnings of facial hair.

A series of complex and archaic calculations were performed by Aihana Etsu's mind; as a result, sprouting from his left hand's palm, a long, lashing strand of void energy manifested.

It wrapped itself around the neck of Etsu's foe, and, as its wielder rose, the strand of void energy began operating in a similar fashion to a noose, tightening, and denying Etsu's foe of the oxygen he needed to survive.

His legs' thrashing came to a stop, as his form soon fell limp, his face bluish-purple in coloration, his eyes wide, and bloodshot. A combination of bile and salivary gland secretions dripped from his parted lips.

A series of new issues presented themselves, suddenly; how was Aihana Etsu supposed to get this gear to Misaka Mikoto? What would he do with the cadaver?

As if to purposely add insult to injury, the sounds of clanking boots could be heard growing nearer and nearer. From above they came, repetitive and systematic. There was a chance that those responsible for creating the clanking could end up stumbling upon the cadaver.

Perhaps Etsu had moved a bit too quickly. He cursed under his breath, and produced his phone, his fingers tapping away on the device's tempered glass touchscreen.


	38. BtS: A Certain Sacrifice

September 24th, 2014. 6:08 AM.

The air about St. George's Cathedral had become poisoned and stale, like some terrible gas had been set loose within the Cathedral's halls; a holy place had silently and invisibly been tainted, and it would be tainted again.

Stiyl Magnus' facial expression was a testament to the fact that Necessarius' Archbishop hadn't completely lost her mind, even if it was slowly slipping from her grasp; he clearly felt that something was offbeat as well.

Stiyl Magnus really had been a loyal servant through and through.

Even after all that troublesome business with the Index Librorum Prohibitorum and the Imagine Breaker's present Bearer, even after the truth had been forcibly revealed, he'd remained at her side. Even if he did so begrudgingly, he remained nonetheless.

It was a shame that it'd come to this. Still, if the actions she was taking would allow for she and Necessarius to survive the coming, inevitable apocalypse, then she would continue to take them until the bitter end.

Finding herself in a greater position of power, perhaps even becoming something beyond the strength of a Pope would be a nice bonus.

Through sufficient grovelling great wonders could be worked; it was all a matter of pride.

In the Cathedral's Grand Hall, the enclosed space in which visitors would sit themselves in the great oaken pews during ceremonies and public masses of all originations, both Laura Stuart and Stiyl Magnus had set themselves upon the first of two sets of great pews basking in the glory of the grand, ornate altar before them, which was elevated from the cobbled flooring.

Bathed in the golden light of the chandelier dangling from the slanted ceiling high above, Stiyl Magnus leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. Laura Stuart, on the other hand leaned forward, her form uncharacteristically tense.

Why wasn't he answering? Was she not being forceful enough? Was Magnus's presence disturbing something?

"Tch. Nothing happened… your words are faulty, per usual. Likely this is for the best, either way."

"Hold your tongue; this demonic presence must and will be purged. You feel it, too. We cannot allow this to continue. Concentrate for me, now, and I'll give you a reward."

Clasping her hands and raising them, Necessarius' Archbishop placed them beneath her chin. Closing her eyes, she muttered under her breath, just quietly enough for only her own ears to comprehend her words.

"I summon your Shade, Lord Belial, Belial, Belial. True Father of All Lies, Killer of the False, Breaker of Angels and Bane of Gods, to grace me with your supreme presence. I come to bid you offering of my body and of my soul, of my shaven virgin cunt to take as your own and use as you please. Show your form to me, show your form to me so that I may serve you in all things."

Stiyl raised an eyebrow at his Archbishop's choice of foul language, one of the few whispered words he'd managed to pick up in her almost entirely silent chant, but she paid him no mind. Again, and again Laura Stuart repeated what had become a mad mantra under her breath. Laura's form shook uncomfortably, her condition perpetually growing worse following the closing words of each chant.

The Archbishop's very lifeblood began to boil within her veins as the greatest, most intense feeling of nausea nearly overtook her.

Then the air became truly stale and the very foundations of St. George's Cathedral began to viciously rock, as if the structure was being ravaged by some great quake. Stiyl Magnus felt vomit begin to rise in his throat; he pushed back against the feeling. His stomach twisted and churned within him, as if it was being twisted by a cruel pair of hands. The chandelier above shook violently from side to side like a toy being fought over by two spoiled children, as the lighting flickered despite, or perhaps because of the fact that the chandelier weighed hundreds of pounds.

Only one of them knew it, but the sky above, from London to Cornwall, and from Cornwall to Leeds, and from Leeds to York the sky turned a shade of sickly green; clouds parted, fearing the wrath of the unimaginable. The birds and the beasts fled, before they fell from the sky and from the trees to the ground, and the fauna from settlement to settlement perished; trees withered and dies, bushes stripped of their leaves, and the hue of grassy plains and fields faded from a bright, healthy shade of green to a dull, dead shade of light brown.

The summoning wreaked havoc upon that portion of planet Earth.

Before the grand and ornate altar, like a lightswitch had been flicked on, a great orb of flame, emerald green in coloration formed from nothingness. Embers flew outwards from its main mass, and the flames which emerged licked at the air around them, and at the ornate carpets and cobbled flooring beneath.

Within, the corpulent face of Belial appeared.

Grinning wide, the foul existence inside of the flame cast its vision to Stiyl Magnus, who lurched forward, stumbling from the pew and instantaneously vomiting profusely onto the floor; the raw, unholy presence of the demonic entity proved too much for such a holy man to withstand, as Stiyl's very lifeblood boiled in his veins.

"A pleasure to meet with you once more on this cold morn, where dread twists like a maiden in the throes of labor bound to die before she might meet her shrieking offspring. You have called, you have spoken truth and you have offered your… delectable form and I have answered. Has the decision been made? Has the vote been cast? Tell me, tell me true! I will wait not a moment longer! I wish to be freed of this prison!"

"Lord Belial, I have come to terms. I have accepted my fate, the fate of the Roman Catholic Church and the fate of our kind. There is simply no means in which I could hope to turn the tide, no means in which I or any in my fold could best you, Oldest and Fatherless. I feel and have felt but a fraction of your power before me and I now know that not even the mightiest of all in this world, or in any other could hope to stand against you; such would be suicide. I will free you from your prison. Then Necessarius will serve your every whim; if this Earth is to be your seat of power, then so be it. I have grown so tired of fighting."

Stiyl Magnus frantically attempted to rise, as a trail of semi-digested foodstuffs and ejected stomach acid dripped down his lower lip, and along his chin into the puddle that'd formed on the floor before him.

"Liar! L-l… liar… w-witch… w-what… h-have you… done? Selling us… out? K-K… Kanzaki. Stop you. Stronger."

Belial's grin only grew wider, exposing the mangled teeth and the sullied gums between his lips.

"Aweh, it is confused. Has it been privy to our meetings? Have you told it of what is to come? Truly your kind handles change poorly; I would weep for you, were it not so entertaining to watch you writhe in your own filth."

Laura Stuart bowed her head, and rose from her seat on the pew. Weakly, her legs carried her towards the corpulent, disembodied head surrounded by emerald flame. She didn't verbally respond to the demonic existence's question, to which it didn't seem to mind.

Turning to the pale, weakened form of her subordinate, she offered him a thin smile.

"It's quiet time. Shhh."

The vile being's jaw flopped open, revealing its long, blackened and fat tongue, along with its heavily-scarred palette. Words were produced in thousands of tongues without moving its lips; English, Latin, Japanese, Greek and Ancient Sumerian were among those Laura Stuart recognized. There were many she did not; strange click languages, what sounded like odd chiming, and many deep, guttural tongues whose words made even her skin crawl.

"Blackest of gateways! Open to this Shade's command! Let the pact be signed in blood, let my will be done!"

As if on command, reality itself began to part. The flaming orb containing the disembodied head of the demonic being fluttered to the side, a trail of emerald embers following behind. Like a hot knife through butter, an oval-shaped hole in existence was carved.

Some thirty feet high, it nearly reached the ceiling of the Cathedral itself. The oval was dark at first, like a great mass of nothingness, like some hole in space.

The very Cathedral began to tremble once more; the great metal-bound chain holding the ornate chandelier above in place snapped like a twig in the hands of a child, and it came crashing down; it destroyed a series of pews beneath it, crushing them utterly and crashing against the Cathedral's cobbled flooring. The Cathedral ceased to collapse in on itself only due to the layers of magical protection that'd long ago been set in place; even these struggled to maintain their purpose.

Stiyl Magnus' eyes widened, both in shock and in horror. Translocation magic was one thing; for a functioning bridge – what was essentially a portal – to be established, an overwhelming amount of power was necessary. Such a spell was – should've been – something hypothetical, debated amongst scholars of magic over a table behind closed doors. The sheer force of will required likely would've torn even a vampire with its infinite stores of mana to shreds.

He knew it, and yet there Stiyl Magnus was, seeing the impossible occur before his eyes, the odds being defied by something far, far beyond his comprehension.

What sort of all-power abomination was responsible for this?

Within the oval-shaped tear that'd formed in the world itself, there was something, an image of a dead landscape, another utterly broken world, different from planet Earth. Dread beyond measure welled up within Innocentius' summoner.

The earth beyond the gateway was charred and dyed a shade of sickly green, the sky, or the lack thereof polluted with what looked like great chunks of space debris, some vaguely island-like in their shapes, and unnaturally colorful streams of something that resembled miasma. Great, jagged mountains of sickly green rock rose and fell in the distance, while not even a single tree or shrub was visible. From a great, jagged mountain far off in the distance, globs of what resembled sickly green magma were tossed into the air. Down its slopes to its foot the mountain bled, the same green substance leaking.

Something was nearing from the other side, if such a description could be used. The image itself, and the something, whatever it was were both blurred to a lesser extent.

Then, from the 'other side' of the 'bridge' to the other, something out of a nightmare stepped into reality as the 'bridge' shuddered. St. George's Cathedral itself was continually wracked by quakes; what almost sounded like thunder clapped.

Easily twenty feet high, the existence that'd casually crossed the 'bridge' had thick leathery skin, tawny in coloration like the tone of a desert's sands. It lacked a neck; instead, its enormous, bestial head protruded from its barrel chest, between its broad shoulders. From the sides of its head, two horns protruded, ugly and gnarled. They curled like those on the head of a bull. It lacked what could be considered 'eyes'. Instead, two burning orbs of emerald flame sat in either of its eye sockets. Either of the beast's shoulders were clad in heavy plate pauldrons, from which hellish, sickly green fire was occasionally ventilated. Its crotch was clad in a plated kilt, adorned with hundreds of chattering bones. From high upon its upper back, great bat-like wings protruded, easily twice the size of its form. Either of its arms, ending in a three-fingered hand were as thick as the mightiest of tree trunks, as were its legs which curled like those of a goat, ending with gnarled hooves as opposed to feet. A long, vaguely reptilian tail emerged from above its buttocks, lashing from side to side. Clutched in the beast's right hand, there was an enormous, viciously curved weapon. Its hilt was jagged and crafted from metallic plates savagely hammered together, while its blade was a mass of sickly green flame, perpetually licking at the air around it.

For a moment, it looked down at the distraught form of Stiyl Magnus, and then at the complacent form of Laura Stuart, whose arms were folded beneath her bosom. Beneath the beast, the shaking of the earth subsided as the 'bridge' closed, creating a series of booms that resembled the clapping of thunder.

"What is this?"

It turned its great, bestial form, looking to the disembodied head of Belial. Speaking in both Latin and English at once, Necessarius' Archbishop understood both.

"Apes? I remember when this species was first created. This is your "great plan" for Reunification? With all due respect, our kin will be scattered further by the time these… savages… are pushed to action. The Forces eating from Usurper Varidan's hand will have tanned the hides of our idiot brethren."

"Patience, Djredreeve Argunnh. Patience," the disembodied head of Belial commanded. "The other Djredreeves will join you soon, as will the Sha'ari. You may sate your lust with them; have you so easily forgotten the tightness of my Sha'ari daughters' cunts? The softness?"

Laura Stuart's inquiry was voiced calmly and in the most collected of manners.

"Are there not more of you?"

"No, ape with gold hair, blue eyes. Not yet," the demonic existence responded in both fluent English and Latin, its vocalizations sounding irritated. "His mere Shade lacks the power to telocate more than one of my kind through an extended distance of warpspace."

Then, the beast turned to its right. It sniffed the air, and cocked its neckless head to one side. It grunted, and took a singular step forward, facing away from Innocentius' summoner and Necessarius' Archbishop.

"I sense you, daughters of Hawwah, the grandmother you would call Eve. I have no reason to harm you; so long as you don't raise your weapons to my form or threaten my life, I will not harm you. On my honor as one among His Djredreeves I do vow it."

Having been sniffed out, they emerged from a passageway to the right of the Cathedral's Grand Hall, abandoning the perch they'd held for some time. A band of battle-nuns took slow, cautious steps.

They were lead by a young woman with very short hair, bright red in coloration, even brighter than Stiyl Magnus' own. Her auburn eyes glowed beneath the flickering light that bathed the Grand Hall of St. George's Cathedral. She wore a heavily-armored, plated nun's habit, the bottom of which just barely exposed her feet, clad in simplistic flats. Though her frame was small, she stepped forward with confidence.

"Leave this place, demon, and never return. Your kind is not welcome in a House of God or anywhere in our world."

The beast turned once again, this time with the intent to look back to Belial's disembodied head. There was but one problem; the beast's head wasn't there. Belial had vanished, leaving only a large pile of soot, black as the blackest of nights behind.

Content to ignore the newcomers, the beast looked to Laura Stuart and produced a long, drawn-out sigh, as if it had been in this situation a million times, perhaps more.

Necessarius' Archbishop herself had taken to stepping forward, leaving Stiyl Magnus behind. Tossing her head back like she was challenging the newcomers to oppose her authority, her slipper-clad feet slapped against the cobbled ground.

"Sanctis-san, your interference is anything but required. You and your nuns will return to your posts; please leave. This is a matter of diplomacy between leaders."

Agnese Sanctis would've been a bit more than offended, if she wasn't busy looking past her Archbishop's form. Stiyl Magnus, that hotheaded fire magician was performing an action that was truly odd. Magnus held his right hand in the air, his fingers curled into a fist.

Then, a puzzle piece clicked into place. A right hand, a fist. The side of Agnese's cheek throbbed.

The earth shook beneath the Archbishop, the fire magician with the short, red hair, and the battle-nuns. It did so once and only once, as if a singular tremor had visited them and then took its leave. The beast before them had stomped its hoof like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Enough of your meaningless squabbling. I am Djredreeve Argunnh of His Nazgelhem; I am the mighty Ual. I am what your people would call an ambassador. I come to fulfil the pact in blood and swear you into His service. Allow me to answer some of your inane inquiries before we continue.

"No, you will not be enslaved, bound in chains and whipped for eternity. You are merely expected to rise and fight when He commands it. No, you may not keep your current faith or political systems. He must become your one true Lord; beneath His singular governing force, conflict of all kinds will be eliminated. "Yahweh" as your kind knows it is little more than an infanticidal, homicidal, genocidal, egomaniacal ethnic cleanser and must be both abandoned and forgotten. Yes, you may continue to procreate with your mates, if any, freely. Your offspring will be expected to fight for Him once they come of age. No, you will not be stored away in cages, or trapped in dungeons for eternity, only being freed when He needs you…"

Argunnh's voice became almost monotonous. "He is merciful and generous to those who serve. Serve and you will survive His coming and the Reunification. Refuse His generous offer and I will be forced to cull the lot of you where you stand and raze this offensive temple to a meandering child-god."

"Where did you… from where did you emerge? What purpose does this proposal serve? Who or what is "He?!"

The voice was Stiyl Magnus'. Frantic and wild, the magician had moved past his Archbishop, his dark robe dirtied by his own vomit. He'd managed to rise, to his Archbishop's surprise. His actions were irrelevant, regardless.

Argunnh shook its head, evidently unimpressed. With a monotonous tone in its booming voice, it spoke.

"I am Djredreeve – what your kind might call "captain" or "general" – Argunnh, of His Nazgelhem, a word which your kind might know as "hand"; I am the mighty Ual, greatest. I am what your people would call an "ambassador". Currently posted in the remnants of the world your species would know best as "Purgatory", my duties involve recruitment and politicking with kinds throughout the multiverses; it is partially for this reason that our meeting has been continuously delayed. He is Belial, among the Oldest and Fatherless, He who is merciful and generous, when He deems it appropriate. My purpose in this world is to sign the pact with crimson-drink, blood, and to swear you into His service, now and forevermore.

"Do not fear, I have had many unblotched political dealings with your kind in the past. Your kind's transition will be a smooth one; a more recent example of one who I have dealt with would be the one your kind calls "Krainikov", an influential and important individual amongst your world's affairs, or so I am told, who is among His close allies."

"I will make no deals with demons!" Agnese Sanctis shrieked, both figuratively and literally putting her foot down. Argunnh was impressed by the tailless, raging monkey's ferocity.

Even as the beast's presence, the very aura it produced overwhelmed her, the battle-nun, leader of the Agnese Forces stared up at it with a look of determination upon her face, lips curled downwards into a frown.

From a small, leather-bound holding mechanism mounted to her back, Agnese drew her Lotus Wand; her battle-nuns unsheathed or drew their weapons mere seconds after their leader had produced her own; spiked maces, bladed polearms, great broadswords and tridents were readied.

The beast merely grunted. Even as Agnese Sanctis began to swat at the air with her Lotus Wand, repeatedly striking its form from afar, the demon apparently known as Argunnh hardly even flinched; the beast looked like it was being subjected to some mild irritation, as if a tiny winged insect was buzzing around its head.

"The pact will be signed once this interruption is concluded."

Stepping forward, the cobbled flooring of St. George's Cathedral nearly cracked and splintered; the magical wards set in place prevented such from occurring, but just barely. The demonic existence left behind perpetually-burning hoofprints as it walked. Sickly green embers leapt from each hoofprint, as if each was a dwindling bonfire in and of itself.

Agnese Sanctis didn't even contemplate backing down for a moment; the battle-nuns that made up her Forces weren't made of such sturdy stuff, however. As Argunnh neared, many dropped their weapons and fled, while many more fled the Cathedral outright.

"I'll never submit to a demon; I can't say I know what's transpired here, but I won't bend knee to you or to "Belial", an aspect of the Fallen Angel. I'd rather die."

It chuckled. The beast laughed, shaking its head from side to side, as if some wisecrack had been made. Agnese Sanctis couldn't have been any more confused.

"That can be arranged, ape. "An aspect of the Fallen Angel"? What garbage are you spewing from your mouth, daughter of Hawwah? None of the child-god's offspring are affiliated with Him. When He was at the height of His power, "Angels" as you know them were nothing more than a concept with the mind of the child-god who feared and loathed Him and His power. From where have you gotten this crude misinformation? Is your species this easily duped?"

"Forgive her, mighty one," Laura Stuart spoke, dismissively. With a wave of her hand, she shook her head from one side to the other, causing her golden locks to flutter like leaves cast adrift on a mild breeze.

"She is not enlightened. Biblical scripture states that your… your people are Fallen Angels, those who rebelled against Yahweh, who Lucifer had taken up arms against. The Roman Catholic Church still subscribes to this f-false… f-faith. I w-will p-personally see to it that all forms of Biblical scripture are destroyed, once the R-Reunification comes."

The beast turned back, looking to Laura Stuart. A chill ran down her spine, causing her entire form to unusually shudder.

"Do not try to command me again, ape. I am no one's lackey."

Argunnh's great tail lashed in irritation. "Lies and slander, disgusting. Your belief system is founded on the flawed words of incestuous herders. It matters not; He will reveal the truth, and your kind will find freedom in your service to Him. Your mental conditioning will be broken."

It turned, its great tail swung quite casually; the extremity crashed against a group of battle-nuns who'd remained at their leader's side, unable to flee quickly enough. Every bone in their collective bodies was shattered, their necks broken upon impact; those who didn't instantaneously perish were rendered braindead. Sanctis herself had anticipated an incoming blow, and had rolled to the side some moments before the beast's tail lashed.

She almost wished she hadn't. The groans were too much, and the demonic existence's unholy aura was beginning to overwhelm Agnese's senses.

With its weapon raised, the beast identifying itself as Argunnh looked to Stiyl Magnus in a manner similar to a butcher looking upon the form of a lamb.

"You're certain? Once the pact is signed, the signing cannot – and will not – be undone."

Laura Stuart nodded; she knew she sent a loyal man to a grim end. To say that she cared in the slightest would be to lie. Loyal men died every day for far less glorious causes.

The loyal man was onto the game, however. He'd been onto it for some time; being able to try and defend himself was a different matter entirely.

Innocentius' summoner had drawn a series of small cards with archaic runes printed upon their surfaces from within his robe. He eyed the beast before him, never letting his vision stray from its form, no matter how much it tried to.

"Ynniron."

Magnus' effort, though valiant, had all been for nought. Cards fell from his grip, fluttering to the floor; pain beyond any Magnus had experienced wracked every individual muscle, every bone and every organ in his body; the sensation of being burned alive.

Seemingly, the demonic existence needed only to speak some foul, guttural word to torture those who defied it. Perhaps there were others with different effects, or perhaps not.

Agnese Sanctis and the surviving battle-nuns who served her had joined their comrade in agony. Necessarius' Archbishop merely seemed to be suffering from the effects of a mild headache. She massaged either of her temples with her index fingers; her body was adjusting to the unholy.

The beast, Argunnh, approached the writhing form of Magnus and raised its flaming weapon above its head, like a miner preparing to swing their pickaxe down upon an ore vein.

Even through the intense pain, even as every single part of her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes felt like they were being consumed by fire, Agnese Sanctis struggled to pull herself forward, screaming in agony with each movement she made. Magnus needed her help, Necessarius and the Amakusans needed her help.

Everything was beginning to click into place. Magnus' words rang aloud in the battle-nun's mind.

"Selling us… out?"

What in God's name, what in Heaven's name, what in the name of the Angels and the Ministers of Grace had Laura Stuart done?

Argunnh's blade came down with swiftness unrivalled; the beast's arms, and the weapon clasped in its hands became a blur of brown and sickly green. Within a fraction of a second, the head of Innocentius' summoner had been cleanly severed from the shoulders it'd been mounted between, and he perished instantly.

The tearing of flesh and the shattering of bone rang out above the pained screams of those who'd fallen. Excess lifeblood spurted from the gaping wound where a head and a neck had once been.

Agnese Sanctis, just barely on the verge of consciousness heard herself weeping aloud like a child who'd lost their parents in some crowded location. Necessarius' Archbishop looked down at the form of the battle-nun and offered her a thin smile, her eyelids closing shut for a moment.

Quietly, the eternally-beautiful Laura Stuart produced a giggle.

The Agnese Forces would come to see her Archbishop as their savior, in time. She was still so young; of course she wouldn't understand. Sometimes, sacrifices needed to be made. Sometimes, there just wasn't a choice in the matter. Sometimes, the only choice to make was to obey a higher call.

At least Lord Belial and His underlings had the decency to show themselves, and didn't simply 'work in mysterious ways'.

"The pact is signed in blood," Argunnh stated, as if some mundane, routine task had been completed. "You will represent your kind before Him in your dealings, once He takes His rightful place on the throne of this world, His birthright. Following the abolishing of your faith and political systems, you will be placed at the highest authority, among those who will serve as His extension, the governing body of your kind. You are now among His Suulo, "Mouthpieces".

The beast looked to the forms of Agnese Sanctis, and the loyal battle-nuns who'd been forced to the ground with their leader, their collective forms writhing in pain.

"Norionn," Argunnh boomed. Though the throbbing pain within the battle-nuns subsided, their forms remained weakened, unable to even lift themselves from the floor. The curse, or whatever ungodly force it had been was lifted.

"I have been instructed to maintain an extended presence in this world, to enforce His will, ape with golden hair, blue eyes. Though His Forces are apprehensive and scattered in the world your kind would know as "Purgatory", hunted like beasts by Usurper Varidan, we together can forge Him a functioning offensive in this world, to serve on the fronts of both this world and the world you would know best as "Purgatory".

"I will need many female wombs to fill and cultivate, and many male pollinators to infuse with the appropriate augmentations. No harm will come to the augmented pollinators, the womb-apes, or to their offspring. I vow it."

It looked to the battle-nuns, and then nodded in what seemed like satisfaction. Lowering itself, the beast fell to one knee and held its wrist outwards; Laura Stuart looked upon the arm, with thick, leathery flesh bound over it. It was covered from one end to the other in jagged, scabbed-over scars.

On either of the Argunnh's wrists, there was a great band forged of some unknown metal, encrusted with gleaming jewels. Hanging from the side of its kilt, Argunnh unsheathed a weapon which, for the demonic existence's size, served as ceremonial dagger. For the average human, it would've served as a great sword, requiring two hands to lift.

Placing the dagger to its wrist, the beast cut downwards, viciously parting its own flesh with great force. The demonic existence's leathery skin produced a series of shifting noises, like fabric being torn as it parted beneath the sharpened blade.

A viscous green liquid, thick as molasses began to slowly drip from the wound. It gurgled and glopped as it contacted the oxygenized air outside of the demonic existence's body.

"They will do, for a starting point. They are young, their wombs fit for cultivation, able to produce strong and capable offspring. But first, a gift; a show of goodwill between two lifeforms who have become one through the pact," Argunnh spoke.

"Suckle. Take in His power and bask in His glory. You will be the first among your so-called "Necessarius" to Drink, as newest Suul. Shake off the shackles placed mockingly upon you by the child-god. Be rid of your crippling mortality and of your fragile form. You won't be harmed, on my honor as one among his Djredreeves, I vow it."

Laura Stuart quietly contemplated her fate for a moment.

Some ten years ago, when the Great Beast 666 still floated upside down in his chamber of fluid, his fount of eternal youth and never-ending life, would that Laura Stuart have even considered bowing before an existence such as the one before her? Would she have considered handing her underlings over to be "cultivated"?

Perhaps, if the Laura Stuart of the past had been shown what the Laura Stuart of the present had been shown.

So many marching armies; billions upon billions upon trillions of eternally-marching infantry units, siege weapons, mechanical and biological alike that could break countries and kill millions in a matter of hours, great winged beasts that could pull homes from their foundations and drop them from on high, killing all inside.

A never-ending wave of demonic existences.

Where one army could fall, ten thousand more marching legions would take that army's place.

The sheer power of Belial's Shade, the might of an existence that bore not even a fraction of the power of the True Lord of All Lies would have overwhelmed even the confident Laura Stuart of the past.

So she finally bent knee before the impatient-seeming beast.

Taking a deep breath, Necessarius' Archbishop quietly wondered if the Great Beast 666 laughed at her from beyond the grave.

Even if she, the player of so many mind games, the ever-cunning Laura Stuart was to become a servant, she would yet live, as would Necessarius. In the end, she would have the last laugh. Once the curtains closed, she would be the actress who pushed on to bigger and better things.

Her lips connected with the gaping, jagged wound; like an infant nursing from their mother's teat, Laura Stuart allowed the substance to pass her lips and enter her mouth. It poured over her tongue, slipping between her gums and the interior of her lower lip, burning her salivary glands.

Glopping and bubbling the substance dripped down the Archbishop's throat; oddly, it tasted like the sweetest honey, and less like some acidic bile.

Necessarius' Archbishop soon tore herself away, after only a short period of suckling; her entire body had begun to shudder as if she was a weakened wooden shack buckling beneath the fury of a hurricane. Her screams echoed throughout the Grand Hall of St. George's Cathedral, awakening all within who hadn't previously been roused.

The eyelids of the Archbishop parted so far from one another that they were nearly torn. A mix of red, natural lifeblood and the invasive, viscous green liquid surged from her nostrils and from the corners of her eyes as she tossed her head back with intense force, her jaw flopping open, continuing to open wider as she shrieked aloud.

Laura grew. She grew, and she grew, and she grew. As her veins were nearly incinerated she grew. Her arms grew wider, the emerald-colored veins within bulging. Her legs grew both in their length and in their majesty, tearing the lacy undergarments that she'd been clad in, beneath her gown. Her slippers were torn asunder as her feet swiftly outgrew them.

All traces of Laura Stuart's holiness were eradicated, purged by living flame. The Light within her was snuffed out, the Holy Spirit that protected her eternal soul fleeing for dear life; Necessarius' Archbishop felt its departure. She felt stronger than she'd ever felt before.

All that time, it had only been holding her back. All that time, Yahweh had been limiting her potential to become something truly great, something beyond even that Great Beast, Crowley.

Strands of golden, honey-colored hair atop Laura's head and from below her brow loosened, and then fell like so many leaves just before winter's approach, pooling around her balding form, laying worthlessly beneath her, where all lesser things belonged, where they should've been grovelling, kissing and worshiping not only her feet, but the very ground she walked upon.

With the hair of her head and of her brow replaced by a blazing mane of emerald flame, Laura Stuart rose, empowered, as the heat of power unrestrained coursed throughout her form. Where eyes as blue as the sky had once been, there were two orbs of emerald green flame.

It was only once the overwhelming pain subsided that an unnatural, yet comforting warmth fell over Laura Stuart like a blanket. Neither a mortal nor a human could Necessarius' Archbishop truly continue to call herself, even if she hadn't necessarily been either; she'd become something far greater than anything she'd ever been before. Indeed, it seemed that obeying the call of this higher power had its rewards.

As she looked to the form of Stiyl Magnus, which lacked a head, Laura Stuart was hardly concerned with the fact that her actions too had consequences. Those that had even a lick of intelligence would embrace the power and the impossibly warm sensations that came with it.

Those that lacked even the most basic of intellect would be cast down.

September 23rd, 2014. 9:48 PM.

Though the world – or more accurately, the decrepit placed viewed as a rogue nation by the rest of the civilized world, Academy City – beyond the upscale house's protective walls was dark and unforgiving, among the cruelest of mistresses, within the protection of a certain home's walls there was love, and there was safety.

What had been prepared was a feast for royalty, to be served on a golden platter before an audience of irate nobles and preoccupied upper-class socialites – at least, that's how a certain golden retriever saw the meal that'd been prepared for him.

Across from Kihara Noukan's seat before the dining room's ornately-carved wooden table of moderate size, Kihara Yuiitsu sat casually upon a luxuriously-designed throne-like chair, with her right leg crossed over her left. Clad in a simplistic robe and a pair of inexpensive slippers, she sliced through the meat of her steak with her knife, holding the slab of meat in place with her fork as she cut.

"It's hardly a matter of romance, darling," Noukan spoke. With his own slab of meat held in place by his right paw, he chewed viciously on the delicious morsel, digging his teeth, as strong as ever, into the meat and tearing chunks away like a savannah-dwelling predator.

"The actions of those involved are based on scientific principal and on scientific principal alone. Cold and unfeeling, they strive for results no matter the cost. In a manner of speaking, suppose for a moment that it is indeed romantic in the sense that these individuals seek to further mankind. Did what you see, darling, suggest any sort of furtherment? I regard the results as a devolution. They were less than even the most simple-minded of primates."

Raising her mug to her lips, Yuiitsu took a long, deep sip of apple cider, the warm, sweet liquid splashing against her palette and washing over her tongue, tingling her taste buds. She gently placed the mug back onto the table from where she'd retrieved it, and began gathering spinach with her spoon.

"Of course, sensei; I'm not disagreeing," Yuiitsu remarked. "The labours of that appalling manchild suggest to me that the concept of 'Kihara' hasn't changed in the slightest. With him at the helm, 'Kihara' will only, as you said, 'devolve' further. Attempting to become something truly unique has become attempting to play God, a game destined to be lost by all participants involved… hardly romantic in the slightest. Between 'like' and 'dislike' I greatly dislike 'Kihara's' downfall."

Noukan sat up straight, balancing himself upon his haunches. Licking his lips, he shook his head and chuckled, as if he was humoring the antics of a confused young person. Lowering himself towards the bowl of milk set next to his plate, he lapped some of the opaque liquid up before he rose once more.

"Were it the works of another individual, any other individual on the face of this great blue Earth," Noukan began, still chuckling to himself even as he spoke, "such cruelty would be kept confined to some darkened laboratory within the depths of a derelict facility. They would bribe those that could be bribed and silence those that could not be… not him, not Amata's offspring. One almost must admire him; I would, were he not so overtly deranged. There is hardly a method to his madness at first glance, but all one must do is look deeper, and something will be found."

"Sensei, I've wondered… bah, it's all nonsense."

"Don't hesitate, darling. Speak freely."

Taking another sip from her mug, Yuiitsu peered into the large, round eyes of the being she so deeply admired, both as her closest, dearest friend and as her teacher in all things; academics, life, romance. The golden retriever cocked his head to one side, a curious expression upon his face. As if compelled, the young woman spilled her guts to him.

"Perhaps if I'd swallowed my pride, what he became could've been prevented. Perhaps 'Kihara' and all it stood for wouldn't have been sullied by him. If I'd accepted and forcibly reciprocated his affections, perhaps he could've been leashed. It's a foolish though from a foolish part of my mind, nothing I'd pay attention to with any seriousness, sensei. Likely not; madness runs wild in his side of the family."

Noukan vigorously shook his head, seemingly in refusal. "No, no. There is no romance to be found in such an existence. Misery and slavery would have been your sole companions in a life of that sort. The mind of Amata's offspring is like that of a child, dangerously so; he sees something, or in the case before us, someone, and then he desires it, or in the case before us, them. Once he obtains it, however, the luster quickly fades. You would have been lucky to have found yourself as a trophy wife, darling; not a suitable existence for anyone, especially not someone as precious as you."

She nodded. Yuiitsu nodded her head in agreement, finishing the last of her spinach. Noukan tore more chunks of thick, white meat from his own slab, enthusiastically chewing the morsels.

"One really does have to question where the love's gone, sensei," Yuiitsu mumbled, her words just loud enough for the being she admired to hear. "Among the children romance still blossoms, but among those older it withers and dies, I've found."

Noukan tilted his head to one side. "Something troubles you. How do you feel about this?"

"Statics show that, paradoxically, given the unprecedented decrease in divorce rates beyond the walls, within them rates have been steadily rising." Slicing the last bits of meat available to her, she readied one, jabbing her fork through its surface; it emerged on the other side, penetrating the soft meat without issue.

"I made the mistake of visiting the darker side of the Internet earlier, in search of news articles relevant to our conundrum. I'd come upon a gruesome tale. A man slew not only his wife, but his three children as well. He very well might've taken his rampage to a public space, if the machines hadn't put him down."

"This troubles you, darling. Why? There's nothing to be done. Death is an unfortunate consequence of life."

"I know that, sensei. A load off my chest, is all… not a day goes by that I don't regret…"

From behind both, placed near the edge of a baker's rack where numerous ingredients were set upon several shelves, the sounds of a cellular phone's vibrations became audible, as the device's backplate repeatedly knocked against the bottom shelf's wooden surface.

"It's quite impolite to call someone during dinner hours," Noukan spoke, dismissively. The woman who had once been – and, in a way still was – the one he'd taught for so many long years truly was becoming something unique, something to rise above what 'Kihara' stood for.

She could admit that she'd been wrong.

Rising from her seat, Yuiitsu made her way to the baker's rack. Set up against the nearby wall, it sat close to the bordering wall that separated the dining room and the home's kitchen. From the ornate, door-sized window some few feet away from the rack, a sea of golden lights, generated by high rise structures and singular homes alike could be seen beyond the home's protective walls. The soft soles of her slippers glided over the carpeted floors beneath her form.

"To be fair, sensei, it's nearly ten o'clock at night."

The caller, their identified on the touchscreen of Kihara Yuiitsu's cellular phone was "01010011 00101110 00100000 01001011 01110101 01101101 01101111 01101011". Yuiitsu breathed a sigh of irritation. Was there anything that woman could accomplish on her own?

Then again, Yuiitsu wasn't in charge of a dying City, and the many lives within. Remorse for her previous thoughts slapped Yuiitsu's face and reprimanded her by causing her stomach to twist and churn, like soft clay being toyed with in the hands of a creative child. Such was a sensation that was becoming all too familiar.

Swiping to the right, Yuiitsu pressed a small, virtual button on her cellular device's screen, which depicted the icon of a megaphone. Upon removing her hand's index finger, the button glowed a bright green, while the megaphone icon itself turned white.

"Good evening," Yuiitsu spoke, calmly. With her right hand stuffed into the corresponding pocket on the front of her robe, curled into a fist, tension surged through the young woman's form; silently, she fought against herself, within her own mind.

As always, the voice on the other end, the voice of Kumokawa Seria, was calm and collected. The words flowed from her lips like music produced by some enchanted instrument.

"To you as well, Yuiitsu-chan. Has Noukan-kun taken his medication tonight? Such a poor, poor old fellow."

"The only medication I need is a reprieve from the likes of you!" Noukan exclaimed, quite jovially. Lapping up the last of the milk in his saucer, the golden retriever leapt from his seat, taking to his student's side. "When I remarked "see you next crisis", my words were intended as jest. I did not mean it. You've become worse than those overzealous religious types, Seria-Sama."

Softly clearing her throat, Academy City's Director got down to the grim business she'd called about.

"Our mutual benefactors seem to be having trouble with the assignment laid out before them," Seria began. "Our beloved OFFICER Network, a small group of drones, in fact, hovering over the nameless eyesore my employee has taken to calling 'the Motherlode', captured footage of the number six entering the facility, clad in some type of makeshift disguise. To make a long story shorter, firepower born not of a Personal Reality might be needed to supplement the assault, at least for a short while. I can think of no better means of firepower than your Exosuit and Lite Attachment, Noukan-kun."

Though there was a distinct callousness in her tone of voice, both Yuiitsu and Noukan recognized it as being false, a front thrown up by someone who had a job to do, someone trying to separate their emotions from their duties.

Yuiitsu had a question, one which had been burning as soon as Academy City's Director had mentioned their involvement in the ill-fated siege.

"What of the machines? Can they not hold their own?"

"Armor-piercing ammunition makes quick work of them," Seria responded, a hint of irritation in her tone of voice. "I'd hoped that what I'd assumed to be hired guns, mercenaries involved in this matter for financial gain and financial gain alone wouldn't've been armed to the teeth.

"Apparently, that was too much to ask, and now I turn to you, the individuals who continue to uphold the concept of 'Kihara'; my third and final line of offense. I would much prefer not to be forced into a defensive position against common rabble who've figured out that they can pick up a firearm."

Noukan seemed to notice it even before Yuiitsu felt it; there was a deeply unwanted sensation welling up within the young woman's gut. Her arms felt too heavy to be held up by her torso, and her forehead felt oddly cooler than the rest of her body. With her cellular phone in hand, Kihara Yuiitsu made her way back to the nearest chair, situated before the dining room's table. Throwing herself into it, Yuiitsu breathed a sigh.

Comfortingly, the golden retriever who'd followed his student's steps placed a paw on her lap as he looked up to her, concern in his eyes and evident on his face. Yuiitsu set her available hand on top of the fur-covered appendage, grasping it lightly and fiddling with the paw's individual digits.

"You're fighting a losing battle, let it all end. If the United Nations are so bent on depopulating Academy City, or what remains of it, let them. The espers can claim refugee status in the safety and stability of the West, or in Europe and we can finally let go. We can finally pull the plug and let this place drift into sleep eternal. You realize that by keeping this place alive, you keep Thelema alive? You're keeping him alive. So long as Academy City stands, even as a depowered rogue nation, his legacy continues to thrive."

There was an extended period of silence. Kumokawa Seria didn't immediately respond, and the sounds of technology – the clacking of a keyboard and the repeated clicking of a mouse, among other sources of auditory stimuli – could be heard. Finally, following this period of silence, Seria softly cleared her throat and spoke her piece.

"I don't disagree with your logic; everything you say holds sense, Yuiitsu, but I owe it to the people of this City, children and adults alike, those who've forged communities and have come together despite the dire circumstances… those so tightly-knit who would be so very heartbroken if separated from one another… to try and undo what he wrought. I've been writhing like a fish trapped on a riverbank for some time, I realize this. Give me more time, I need more time. Aid this expedition and I'll reimburse you, financially or otherwise, as best as I can."

"Such romantic inclinations cannot simply be ignored," Noukan spoke aloud. "Darling, I'm quite certain that this issue can be easily dealt with. Rogue technologies are simply no match for constructions of your exquisite design."

Nodding, Yuiitsu placed her cellular phone on the surface of the kitchen's table. She rose, and moved in the direction of the kitchen, her facial expression betraying the fact that she was deep in thought. Her brow was furrowed, and beneath her front teeth she nibbled on her lower lip.

He watched her movements for a short while before he leapt into the seat he'd taken during he and his student's dinner. Reaching out, he pulled Yuiitsu's phone towards him with his paws. Noukan spoke softly into the device.

"Expect my arrival within the hour. Before preparations begin, I think it only polite to inquire… is the use of lethal force authorized? I would much prefer not to playfight with these… undesirables."

"Noukan-kun? As Director of Academy City's internal affairs, I give you this order, and I expect it to be fulfilled: kill them all."

"Of course, Seria-Sama; let us keep this 'order' a secret from my darling, yes? She has found herself… troubled. She needs no more to contemplate."

"Very well, Noukan-kun, very well."


	39. A Certain Dying Balance

? ?, ?. ?:? ?.

There was some great cosmic mana-storm raging above the green-tinted emptiness that he and his kin had once known to have held a sky, sometimes bright and blue, other times grey and dotted with storm clouds. No longer did the sky change, for there was no longer a sky.

He remembered a time when the land had been whole, when the barren, cracked landscapes without so much as a single instance of flora or non-hostile, non-Daemoniac-addled instance of fauna had been dotted with dense forests and wide, open grasslands.

Even still he couldn't have cared any less about this disheartening change.

While some Orok lusted for fine Lifegivers with perky breasts or a tasty brew to wet their palette, he lusted only for power.

He had no sob story to fall back on, no burnt village or slain family members to cry about – his family members were indeed slain, but he'd done that himself – he sought power because he sought it, because it was rightfully his take, because he'd long ago grown tired of squabbling over scraps in a world that had always been his for the taking.

Chunks of the broken continent floated about, pushed like toys in the hands of a child as the storm raged on, crashing and screaming. Still he couldn't have cared any less. Let them float; if their world was too weak to know true power, Lord Belial would find a world that could sustain the Orok; those Orok who were worthy of living on such a world, at least.

He might've reached out to touch it, to harvest even a small amount of the loosed, latent power amidst the mana-storm raging above; but Belial himself couldn't have staved off the Grand Warlock's anger.

If the miserable, crossbow-slinging wretch had simply avoided making contact with the mightier of Beast 666's children, all it would've gone smoothly.

Instead, not only had the bumbling idiot been demoted within the Varidarii ranks, but suspicion had been raised amongst the enemy's Forces as well.

The fool knew this was a situation in which a new mole couldn't be planted after the previous had failed; if the Hidden Hand was exposed, years of finely-tuned, delicate planning would come undone. All because of one simple mistake, based entirely on sating one's personal desire, and placing it as a priority over the one true lord's will.

The Grand Warlock knew he should've simply done it himself, even if such would've strained his already tense existence as what some might've called a 'double agent'.

And there the simpleton was, reaching out to the Hidden Hand, the organization that should've been throwing the worthless, unevolved proto-human to the proverbial wolves.

The hunchbacked form of the Grand Warlock lurched towards the great hole dug into the long-dead, perpetually crumbling dirt; the bottom of his stave, doubling as a crutch, topped with so many skulls bound to the head of its gnarled shaft with long-rotted rope repeatedly crunched the ground beneath it.

Clad in many layers of thick, torn robes, patches of his emerald green flesh could be seen beneath. A darkened hood sat atop his head, though it served only to partially obscure his sunken facial features. From either of the corners of his mouth a long and viciously curved tusk jettisoned forth, both gnarled and chipped, weatherworn, yellowed and partially decayed.

The lurching, hunchbacked Grand Warlock was surrounded by the pearly white ruins of a typically disgustingly ornate, but satisfyingly depopulated settlement, without a single doubt of Vahlaec origins. The pointed-eared blueskins, the stinking, snobbish refugees from a bleeding, pained blue and green world so many star systems away always had preferred style over defensibility.

The settlement's many spires and castle-like markets and appalling, luxuriously-designed residential districts with their curvy structural designs and their semicircular convex roofs that still stunk of the blue-skinned filth were emptied, their residents collected in the pit within the settlement's center; the Grand Warlock knew not what the blueskins called it, and he didn't care to learn what disgusting word their ugly, blue lips would utter.

"I answer your call for we have the same Father. I answer your call, I answer your call, I answer your call. For Him I hear your voice and comprehend your words with an open mind and a light heart."

Within the crackling, licking emerald flames of the hastily-assembled bonfire, the face of the Huntmaster appeared, like a twisted visage in a funhouse mirror. His helm, though cracked in places remained in place, continuing to successfully obscure his facial features. One of its antlers had broken away, leaving only a stump behind.

"Forgive my lateness, Grand Warlock. The Varidarii grow restless and look to tire of my presence. The half-blood Nephilim savages have only just taken to tossing back their brews, and as such I only now have a moment to make contact. I do not call to you empty-handed; I call to you with information most vital.

"Djredreeve Archacteus has lead a small band of loyalists to victory against the Varidarii in Naskalaa; multiple settlements have been subsequently depopulated and taken. This may be our first foothold within the Ruined Flats since… this may be the first time we've ever broken the Varidarii line of defense there, Grand Warlock. This is a historic victory, one which buys us much-needed resources and prisoners, bargaining chips. Should the decision be made to garrison the ruins dotting Naskalaa's… wonderful… landscapes, we will possess not one but many dependable, bolstered base of operations, of our own."

"Then speak of something of importance," the green-skinned, hobbling Warlock urged, an edge in his voice. "If that fiend Argunnh has Crossed, and I have been given no reason to disbelieve the words of our Father, it is very likely that a fighting force will arrive soon enough, and the Hidden Hand will no doubt be expected to join them in the final stretch of our long and tedious war game with the Varidarii. Our true victories will be bought abroad, not at home. Has there been luck in attempting to annex "New Camelot?"

"None. The Knights hold strong against both our Forces as well as the Varidarii onslaught. What of the Varidarii? Their hunt for the Firstborn may end sooner than later; should it, inconvenience will wash over us like a dark tide.

"They have avoided Dreadfire Citadel thus far, however this could change on a whim, even if no element is present, nor threatens to present itself that would suggest this. If your ears have not already borne witness, Varidarii Forces consistently hold territory in the Broken Peninsula, dangerously close in proximity to Dreadfire. With New Camelot and the other kingdoms of Free Men southernmost of us, the neutrality of these lattermost parties might quickly be nullified."

"They won't be nullified… though for two beings who supposedly ate of a "Fruit of Knowledge", neither one is particularly bright… in the end, the simpletons aid us, even if they don't know it.

"Worry not about other parties; we will make contact again soon, Huntmaster. Be prepared to leave the Varidarii behind at a moment's notice, regardless of your status, regardless of the intelligence at stake. When the time comes for you to take your leave, no intelligence will matter. When Argunnh's semi-dependable militia Crosses, the end begins… for now, I offer our Father a gift. May His blood be His own again soon."

He turned from the bonfire, and focused his attention on the hastily-created pit. Crashing against the congealed, translucent barrier of emerald green, the blueskins writhed, the lips of the young and of the old opening and closing as they uttered silent screams.

The broken, barren land was parted beneath the Grand Warlock's stave, shattering and cracking as its bottom invaded the dry, dusty earth beneath the cracked surface. Detaching himself from the makeshift crutch, his hunchbacked form parted its legs, his boot-clad soles kicking up dust and dry debris as they shifted.

"I offer onto You, o Father, o Belial, o Sun, life I have obtained to bend to my will, utilizing the great power I hath humbly borrowed from You, so that You might bless Your humble servant in exchange for its obedience. Here are the lives your humble servant presents onto You."

Like they had many millions of times before, the hunchbacked Warlock let his left hand fall to his side, as his right hand reached towards the sky, its five individual digits unnaturally bending, pointing to the east as they cracked. From his tearing flesh, bright, emerald green blood leaked.

Sickly green miasma danced around the Grand Warlock's fingers, balling in the palms of his hands. From within the pit, the congealed mass of solid flame dissipated. In its place so many long, throbbing tendrils of emerald green leapt from the Warlock's fingers; hundreds emerged and found their targets, latching onto the blue-colored flesh of those too weakened to rise from their prison.

From behind the Grand Warlock, many more tendrils joined those that'd come before them. Figures clad in ceremonial robes, similar in appearances of those that garbed the Warlock himself, though in considerably better condition, worked their magic. They, like the Warlock, were Orok. They stood with a considerable hunch to their broad shoulders and their gargantuan forms, with tusks protruding from the corners of their mouths like the Grand Warlock himself. Others were tall and plump, musclebound with limbs as thick as the mightiest of tree trunks. Others yet were identifiably modern humans, many of whom had been torn from the world in which the land known as "Academy City" existed, their bodies punctured and their free lives taken from them by the Huntmaster's bolts, while others were taller, with long, pointed ears, their skin tinged a shade of emerald green, this being the only visual difference between them and the blue-skinned, pointed-eared beings trapped within the pit.

"Focus, you miserable wretches!" The Grand Warlock exclaimed, primal fury lacing his voice. "Focus your frustrations! Pour your rage into the casting! Deny our Father his Drink and I will throw the lot of you to your deaths!"

As those behind the Warlock did exactly that, from within the pit a sickly green whirlwind was whipped up from nothingness, echoing with the screams and pained wails of the weakened souls entrapped within the pit. Flesh and bones and souls were torn within the whirlwind, as the group poured the latent negativity within their minds and hearts into the casting, further empowering it.

Like the blast of a cannon, the whirlwind became a great mass of miasma, which surged to the east, dancing across the sky-less above like an unsightly, brutalist's vision of a rainbow.

Within the pit, nothing remained save an emerald-tinged miasma, which settled at its bottom.

"Grand Warlock, what might I speak to the Varidarii, should they grow curious of the whereabouts of you and yours? A glorious feast of Drink for our Father, I might add. Truly, you are the master of ceremonies and blueskin disaster."

"Flattery will not win my approval. Speak truthfully to the Varidarii; we encountered the misfortune of happening upon the scene of a massacre, committed in a small settlement within the bounds of the Gladion Valley. Paying my respects to my Brother-Blueski… I mean, Vahlae, my fellows and I took to providing proper Orokahe burials for the dead, a symbol of our love for our Brother-Vahlae. Terribly, there were no survivors, not even the suckling babes. Give Varidan my deepest, humblest condolences, Huntmaster."

September 23rd, 2014. 9:55 PM.

Having arrived back at the empty Shirai residence with her most recent purchases of a small, handheld hammer and a larger, thicker chisel, Uiharu Kazari's mind was being torn apart as she sat. She continuously looked over her shoulder, keeping her ears open and her senses heightened. If someone had trailed her, they wouldn't take her without a fight. While a firearm would've been nice to have, Kazari had settled for sitting with a large cleaver which she'd retrieved from the kitchen area of Shirai Kuroko's apartment.

The odd four-legged, unidentified flying object she'd seen careening above the City's streets, apparently propelled by some sort of contrail-producing engines hadn't helped the young woman to feel any better.

Struggling to keep herself from hyperventilating, Uiharu Kazari internally asked herself a question she'd previously asked herself many times, on more than one occasion over and over again, until her head throbbed.

Just what was she doing with her life?

Sitting herself in Shirai Kuroko's computer chair, with the computer's mechanical mouse to her left, and a large bottle of spiced rum she'd looted from her old friend's refrigerator to her right, Uiharu Kazari had found herself within the depths of a truly dark place, if it could really be called a 'place'. It was less of a singular location and more of a collection of locations loosely connected to one another.

With the appropriate security measures in place, including a virtual private network which would convince any party attempting to track or otherwise spy on her that she was a resident of Stockholm, Sweden, a forum was open in the Anonybrowse window displayed on one of Kuroko's computer's monitors, along with numerous other tabs, all of which held open pages. The modem had been pulled forward, out from behind the computer's tower. At a moment's notice, Uiharu Kazari was ready and willing to yank the Ethernet cable.

Of all the subjects Kazari had stumbled upon within the, by her own admission, incredibly sketchy depths of the illegal dark web forum, the newest was arguably quite innocuous in and of itself; she'd found herself in a forum thread in which the thread's original poster seemed to be acting as a journalist of sorts, delivering what news stories they could find to a fair number of audience members of news-deprived Academy City netizens. The thread apparently had a total of three hundred sixty-two active viewers, while only a fraction of that number were posters.

The newest post in the thread had caught Uiharu Kazari's attention, simply because of how strange it was. Her right hand had frozen on the cold, unfeeling surface of the bottle of spiced rum. Though she'd had the intention of bringing it up to her lips and taking another swig, her right arm seemed to have frozen up.

"EMERGENCY: PLANET CLOSE TO SECOND COMING/WW4/WORSE? PLEASE READ/VIEW PICS IT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE!"

While the title of the post in the thread was the typical sort of religious nonsense Kazari had become used to in the world of dark web conspiracy theories, the fact that the poster submitted actual articles from reliable sources of news sent an unusual tremor down Kazari's spine, causing her shoulders and neck to shudder as her grip on the bottle of spiced rum loosened.

"pow in academy city (hell) here fuckers. tens of thousands of birds and fish dead in uk, animals like dogs and cats too. all the grasses in cornwall are dead (i have relatives there). my aunts expansive garden is completely ruined because all the marigolds and sunflowers died. Uncle sent me a pic of the sky too. science cant explain this. check this fuckers. if that long haired ass jesus comes down he aint takin me to hell."

She decided to take the risk; though rather than downloading the attachment onto the harddrive of Shirai Kuroko's obviously expensive rig, Kazari instead opted to open the attached image file in another tab within the Anonybrowse.

A part of Uiharu Kazari had expected for the photograph to be something not only disturbing, but incriminating, and for the links to the credible news sources linked above the post to be phishing website clones of actual websites, as little sense as the latter scenario would make.

Once the image had opened, the fact that this wasn't the case was realized.

If the image was a fake, the hoaxer in question must have been quite skilled with image manipulation tools. The sky looked like it was shifting, just as the night's darkness was dissipating, preparing to make way for the dawn's bright and positive rays, completely natural in and of itself.

Instead of being tinted with hues of light orange, or perhaps soft, light shades of pink, the sky was instead tinged and sullied with a shade of sickly green. The clouds themselves looked to be on fire, as the green hue both illuminated them and passed through them.

Taking another risk, Kazari quickly closed the newest tab she'd opened and opened one of the thread's top links. The website's URL checked out, complete with a secure hyper text transfer protocol. While this didn't rule out the possibility of phishing for one hundred percent, the fact that there were thousands of comments below the article in question seemed to be a bit too damning. Why would a phisher design a clone of a news website of all things, and why would said phisher go through the trouble of typing up fake comments by the thousands? Kazari didn't have an answer to either of these questions.

The photograph displayed in the article was either the work of an extremely skilled image manipulator, or were genuine photographs of anomalous phenomenon.

Slowly but surely, the young woman sitting before her old friend's monitors was leaning towards the latter being the true solution to her quandary. A body of water in what looked to be some sort of public park, not particularly large, but large enough to at least span the distance of some few dozen yards had almost entirely been filled with the corpses of songbirds and waterfowl. Another photograph showed an image of an enormous, grassy field utterly charred, as if someone had taken a flamethrower to the area in a fit of rage. This field was flanked by what looked to be a suburb of some type, which was seemingly unharmed.

Scrolling further downwards into the thread, Kazari began reading a small selection of replies to the post.

"dogpounder69: maybe jesus christ will get rid of you fucking japs. Kkk"

"Slavobia: pics or it didn'…. Fuck."

"Septik: probably Academy City doing some fucked up shit fam, nothing to worry about. Nato + un + russia = Academy City gets fucking steamrolled . Here's to hoping Japanese are kinder refugees than the euro-trash."

"Zyklonben: oy vey, we goyim didnt give enough shekels to our greatest ally! Second Coming confirmed Oh well."

Uiharu Kazari was suddenly startled from her reading, and her subsequent further loss of faith in humanity. At the bottom of her screen, where a small box was located, an even smaller bubble had formed, drifting away from the small box from which it had originated, causing a small "bop" sound effect to sound, emerging from the rig's speakers. A small number one was within the bubble. With little to lose, Kazari clicked on the bubble, seeing who could possibly want to engage in a private messaging session with her on a dark web forum.

"Dev? Youre online. Everything go smoothly? We need to talk asap msg me back. ASAP I MEAN IT THIS IS BIG."

The sender of the message was someone Kazari recognized; or, at the very least she recognized their username. It was KS, whoever KS might've been. The young woman had her suspicions regarding the identity of "KS", though it was nearly impossible to confirm anything.

Leaning back in her seat, the young woman folded her arms beneath her bosom. She clicked her tongue, and then took a swig from her bottle of spiced rum, forcing what remained of the liquid to drip over her tongue, scorching it, and down her throat, which was also scorched by the beverage. Its passage throughout her body was, as previous passages had been, quite painful. The young woman's entire body felt as if it was on fire.

Resisting the urge to cough, Kazari shook her head, her eyelids forcibly closing shut of their own accord. The taste wasn't bad at all; it was the hellish, cough syrup-like burning sensation that came as part of the package that kicked Kazari's ass.

Another "bop" sound effect was followed by a sound becoming audible in the apartment itself. Sharp and sudden, it almost resembled the sound of some sort of futuristic tech from a vintage science fiction film.

She whipped her head to the side, her struggling eyelids narrowing more out of reflex than out of malice, though malice was certainly present within Uiharu Kazari's heart.

Wiping the top of her hand across her brow, Shirai Kuroko tilted her head in Kazari's direction. Clad in her skin-tight Anti Skill operations uniform, her tawny hair was styled into a singular ponytail, which ran down her back, her hair's fringe swept to the side of her forehead.

"Uiharu… not that I care all that much, but what are you doing on my rig?" Kuroko inquired, as softly as she could. "I'm curious, is all."

Kazari couldn't quite put a finger on what she was experiencing; it was the same odd, pained throbbing in her chest that she'd experienced when she'd fallen apart in front of the Railgun, but such a feeling didn't have a name within the young woman's mind. The longer she looked up at Shirai Kuroko's form, the more Uiharu Kazari wanted to let loose once again and allow herself to show weakness, on some level.

"Shirai," Kazari spoke, her voice unsteady. She took a deep breath, and then began slowly exhaling before she continued to speak her piece.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for… for how I acted before. I was wrong, okay? You don't have to forgive me, you can despise me all you want. All I want you to know is that I'm sorry. It goes without saying, but my head is fucked. Wiring is loose. I might as well be as busted as that fucking machine. Cut me some slack."

For a few moments, Kuroko simply looked at her old, damaged friend, both parties seemingly unable to speak any further. Softly clearing her throat, she finally managed to croak out something, anything.

"Uiharu, it's… okay, I guess. I forgive you, and I don't hate you. Give me a few minutes to get myself settled in, I need to grab a shower, this is kind of a lot for me to digest all at once."

Apparently satisfied, Kazari nodded, and then silently turned back to the monitors before her. A seemingly distant and concerned Kuroko made her way towards her bedroom, whose door she soon passed through, vanishing from Kazari's sight as she closed the door behind her.

Eyes looking over the main monitor she'd taken to utilizing, Kazari came to know that another message had come from "KS". In her mind, the young woman had expected more than one. Fidgeting in her seat, Kazari crossed her right leg over her left, and tossed her head back. With either of her hands she pushed her bangs away from her eyes.

"Dev? Get back to me this isnt the time to play around. Might only get 1 chance at this and I need your help. Know i always havent been the kindest to you but we need to put our differences aside. please."

An eyebrow was certainly raised at that. Setting either of her shaky hands against the mechanical keyboard before her, Kazari began to slowly type a reply, deleting misspellings and grammatical errors as she went along, to the best of her ability.

"ThePussyDevastator: Not "Dev" here, it's me, his friend again. I don't know where "Dev" is exactly, but I do know that he's not available at the moment. I might be able to help, though. Don't fret, I'm in on the many conspiracies he's involved in, a bit more than I'd like to be if I'm being honest. I'd say more but I'm not even sure how secure my connection is.

"KS: Secure enough to be on a forum like this one evidently lol… get in touch with him. hes probably going to ramble on about how rich this is but i need his help. my family needs his help. listen idk if youve been staying current or not but academy citys defense force has left the walls dont know where theyre going and dont care. this is a chance we havent gotten before to flee safely. Western and eastern tokyo have been taking refugees from academy city if you didnt already know that. two decent exit points, 17 and 11. Shits hitting the fan if what im seeing in the trending threads is true and i need to get my family to safety.

"KS: i know it probably doesnt matter to you but my spouse is expecting.

"ThePussyDevastator: Fuck him for making this his fucking username. I'm going to be getting in touch with him soon anyways, so I'll see what I can do. Consider it a debt repaid. That's assuming you're not a lying snake, and also assuming that this isn't some sort of trap. I'll be packing heat just in case. Hope you've got your vest, "KS". If I'm going to die, I'm game to bring a few of you motherfuckers with me. Make it for me at least?

"KS: I dont want to hurt you whoever you are. I dont want to hurt anyone. What will it take for you to trust me I NEED THIS TO GET TO DEV.

"KS: listen to me.

"KS: I was a teacher over a decade ago. Had to take someones life out of self defense and to protect my students and i regret it every day of my life. ask dev he will confirm this I promise you he WILL CONFIRM THIS.

"KS: Please."

The cries for help seemed so genuine. Still, Uiharu Kazari was skeptical. Anyone could make up a sob story; she'd seen it before on social media outlets and dating websites alike, and doubtless Kazari would see it again. Someone lying on a dark web forum was anything but out of the ordinary.

"ThePussyDevastator: tell me your name. I'll tell you mine if you do. Don't try and lie to me, I know who is and who isn't real in Academy City's repulsive underbelly. You're ex-Kihara, you say? Let's see if what you give me matches up with what I know about the Kiharas active here. Go on. There are at least close to 5300 of you active in Academy City alone, last time I checked was in '08. There were 5276. I can name names."

A few minutes passed, and Uiharu Kazari felt a grin tugging at her lips; she'd caught the bastard, hook line and sinker. In the end, her instincts had won out. If she could've thanked the darkness that'd broken her utterly for one thing, it was for making her wiser. Some might've called it "being paranoid", but Kazari knew better. Those who were "being paranoid" were frightful of parties existing only within the confines of their own respective minds.

Then, her thoughts were shattered. Like a wineglass crashing against a particularly hard and unforgiving flooring material, what the young woman had seen as a victory fell apart around her, and her lips parted from one another.

"KS: ill do it ill do anything at this rate. I need dev's help. Kagun, Kihara. Officially unfortunately. Kumokawa unofficially, hope to legally change it asap. Born 17th June 1974. Blood type O+. Born in Osaka Prefecture but separated from my birthparents and moved to Academy City in 1979. That's all you need, if you want to check up on me you'll find that everything checks out. I dont need your name. Thats all I'm willing to give you HAVE TO BELIEVE ME. The network could repopulate the walls again at any time theres NOT. ENOUGH. TIME."

She found herself gasping for a split second; either this individual had somehow managed to break into Academy City's deep archives, a feat Uiharu Kazari knew even the greatest of electromasters couldn't accomplish under the best of circumstances, or she was speaking with the legendary "Anti-Kihara Specialist" himself.

Kazari uncrossed her legs as she rose from her seat, the sides of her head pounding as a headache ravaged her. Gripping the bottle of spiced rum in her hand, she took the empty bottle and placed it on the surface of the kitchen area's counter, before she reached into the kitchen area's fridge and fished out a bottle of some discount brand of beer from a lower shelf inside of the fridge's door. After prying the lid from the bottle with her bare hands, Kazari made her way back to the computer, where she sat herself back down in her seat.

"ThePussyDevastator: If you're really who you say you are, I suppose I should say that it's an honor. I've heard quite a lot about you; anyone whose put as many Kiharas in the dirty as you have deserves a reward, I'd say. I'll make sure word gets to "Dev". I don't have much to lose at this point anyways. If this is a trap, try to make it fun for me. Don't just blow me up, give me a shootout. That's all I'm asking."

After a period of waiting, a response from "KS" never came; Uiharu Kazari hadn't expected one. Instead of idly waiting for something that likely wouldn't come, she refreshed the thread within the forum a few more times, mulling over responses and commentaries by other posters in the thread.

Evidently, more time than Kazari had realized passed her by. The clicking sound of the door at the end of the corridor directly behind Kazari, separating the living and kitchen areas of the apartment from the bedroom and bathroom signalled to the tired and buzzed young woman that the apartment's actual resident had finished with whatever business she'd been involved in.

Clad in very revealing sleepwear, consisting of little more than a matching, light orange crop top and a pair of booty shorts, Shirai Kuroko's long, tawny hair was long and not styled in any particular fashion. Though they were of a similar shape and size, Kuroko's toned, muscular body put Kazari's to shame, and the latter was quite aware of this fact.

Quietly she walked down the corridor, the soft soles of her slipper-clad feet making very little noise of their own.

"Oi, Shirai," Kazari remarked, swivelling to face the apartment's actual resident in said resident's seat. Clad in nearly identical attire to Kuroko, Kazari could only look down at herself and shake her head. How had her life lead to this, whatever this was?

"I need a lift to the Reformatory, tenth school district. The failed abortion you're so fond of needs my help, and I'm… we're going to need its durability."

"You're… you're going to need to put something on, first, Uiharu…" Kuroko muttered.

Rising from her seat, Kazari folded her arms beneath her bosom once more. Her messy, uncombed locks fell back into her face from where she'd brushed them away. Surrendering to gravity's unyielding force, Kazari permitted them to stay where they were; she certainly wasn't going to fight with the inanimate mess planted atop her head, like a gardener against an invasive species of flora.

"I got around like this just fine, earlier," the young woman stated, a considerable measure of confidence in her tone of voice. To say that Kuroko was surprised by the sudden attitude shift would be an understatement.

"A fine older gentleman even provided me with ¥7000, likely believing I was destitute. I managed to pick up some supplies, including hardware necessities with said money. Never say that being a woman doesn't have its advantages. In retrospective, compensated dating doesn't seem so bad."

Shirai Kuroko shook her head quite violently. Taking her place behind Kazari, who seemed to oddly tense up, the teleporter pushed her old, damaged friend along.

"No, Uiharu, you're not going anywhere like that. If my pajamas fit you, some of my clothes will fit you too, I'm sure of it. I'm not letting you wander around to be ogled like a piece of meat. It wasn't even safe for you to go outside dressed like this earlier; anything could've happened to you. Do you know just how many sick-minded individuals are out there?! No… you're dressing properly, Uiharu. I'm not taking you anywhere until you're dressed properly."

For a moment, the boy didn't know exactly where he was. Tall, derelict and crumbling structures surrounded him, a vaguely familiar scene, but he couldn't quite put a finger on what was important about the location where he found himself. He remembered the sky, moving quite fast, but there was very little to be salvaged from this mess of broken, scattered puzzle pieces.

Kamitou Touka had set himself on the first of many steps leading up to some long-abandoned educational facility in order to take a moment and ponder this issue.

The sprawling complex was a rusted, ruined eyesore, most of its windows broken, and those that weren't completely plastered with a thick, all-consuming layer of dust from their tops to their bottoms. There were no doors on the educational facility at all; entranceways that hadn't been smashed open by looters and urban explorers alike were barred with large sheets of metal, reinforced with beams constructed of a metallic substance unknown to the boy.

The boy himself wasn't in much better condition than the complex that lurked like a great and terrible beast behind him.

From his nostrils, thick crimson lifeblood dripped down onto the damaged concrete flooring. His head throbbed, his temples shrieking out in pain every time he so much as took a breath. His brain, the seat of his sentience felt as if it was melting inside of his head. Touka wouldn't have been surprised if it suddenly started dripping out from within his ears.

Why couldn't he remember? Why was he in the location he'd found himself in? What was his purpose, not only in the desolate landscape of crumbling structures and damaged roadways, but in life? Why was Kamitou Touka alive?

Touka wouldn't have come to a run-down craphole like the one he found himself in on a whim, he knew that much to be certain, he knew that much about himself. This wasn't his idea of a good place to take an evening stroll, nor was it his idea of a location where one could quietly sit to casually contemplate fate.

Then, like two geysers forcing jets of water from the crust of the earth, a stream of lifeblood was ejected from either of his nostrils as his memory returned to him. Kamitou Touka's skull rattled within the flesh of his head as tears stung his eyes; the pain was almost unbearable.

"Pops," he muttered, lifeblood suddenly beginning to drip from the corners of his eyes.

"I was… going to see pops. Reforma… tory. Railgun. Pretty."

Silently, Kamitou Touka was grateful that he'd decided to make an emergency landing when he had. A few moments more, and he would've been completely disconnected from his ability, the one thing that'd kept him afloat. The boy would have to wait it out only a few minutes longer, at least until the skull-rattling headache subsided, and the bleeding stopped. He leaned forward, and violently hawked forth a mess of saliva, crimson lifeblood and mucus from within his throat.

For a while, Kamitou Touka simply waited. Slowly but surely the bleeding slowed, following the pattern the boy had adjusted to. Surprisingly, the weakness the boy had come to associate with considerable blood loss seemed to be mysteriously absent.

After a longer period of time, it stopped completely, leaving only copper stains along his philtrum, chin and across his laryngeal prominence. Down his cheeks, additional stains had come to exist. The headache that'd ravaged the boy's form had subsided as well, leaving Touka with an overwhelming sense of relief.

Rising from his perch on the step, the boy extended his shaking left hand. The thing that'd been forcibly injected into his mind began to work his magic, and it showed; arcs of anomalous energy danced across the boy's hand, as well as along his brow. Making himself the target of his kinetic manipulation, he rose from the ground itself.

Then came the mission that was getting himself to the Reformatory. Finding it wasn't an issue; everyone knew about the old shithole Reformatory, anyone who was someone, at least. Anyone who'd spent any time in the darkness had at the very least heard of it. Anyone who hadn't was obviously some suburban housewife eating from The Man's hand and being smacked around by an overbearing "manly man".

As Kamitou Touka rose higher and higher, the structures below subsequently growing smaller and smaller with every second that passed, the fact that Academy City's tenth school district was anything but silent was realized by the boy.

Apparently, the firearm-wielding ant-clans were particularly peeved at one another. The trademark screaming of ammunition being ejected from the barrels of automatic firearms rang out like a chorus of poorly-raised children in the toy isle of a shopping mall's toy store.

With the wind continuously slapping him in the face, Kamitou Touka kept an eye out as he placed either of his arms to his sides, his form vaguely taking the shape of a torpedo. The same wind tugged at his sleeves and at the legs of his pants while it viciously rubbed his hair and nipped at the soft, tender scalp beneath.

Soon, it'd come into view; the ugly, ruined Frankenstein's Monster of a facility must've been only a few hundred meters away from the hovering form of Kamitou Touka. He'd instantly recognized the rusted, busted-looking dome atop a roof of one of the facility's many mouldering, interconnected structures. Touka hadn't remembered the dome being open, but he reminded himself that times did change over the course of half a decade.

In a manner of speaking, Kamitou Touka was home; at least at one of many homes away from home, wherever his "true" home had been, once upon a time.

For a moment, he remembered his child-self being caressed in the cold arms of a machine devoted to protecting him, for whatever reason it had to do so.

It'd been so long. In retrospect, they'd been stupid to try and run from something that never tired and never stopped, something that consumed all things in its path.

What if the sentient machine hated him for forgetting about it, even if his memory loss hadn't been of his own fault? Maybe it would kill him on sight.

The Reformatory seemed to be considerably more occupied than usual. Armored troops patrolled the grounds, stationed in front of the semi-standing portcullis which had its front gate broken away from its hinges. Troops were stationed before the entranceway as well, which like the portcullis before it, had its own door broken down or otherwise removed.

The boy's attention was focused almost completely on the dome mounted atop the roof of one of the facility's structures. It'd remained opened, and might've been broken for all Touka knew; its hinges, or what Touka assumed to be its hinges occasionally sparked as the dome itself produced a series of sparks, which flew in many directions.

Each of the troops, those stationed outside of the Reformatory's walls at the least were obviously incompetent or otherwise distracted; none apparently even noticed the boy float above their heads, and then land quite ceremoniously upon the roof, which shuddered and loudly groaned beneath his footfalls.

Then, in the relative silence, save for the screaming of gunfire in the far distance, a soft, oddly musical voice spoke aloud.

"Handsome, don't be Hamazura-y. You super don't want to go down there; I wouldn't if I were you. You'll super get gunned down, or ro-man will get you. You wouldn't be anywhere near as super handsome with a face full of holes."

Kamitou Touka spun on his heel, his lips curling into a grin without his higher mind's consent. They moved of their own accord, following the orders of some beast-instinct within him.

Leaning against an enormous, reinforced box constructed of metal, from which many snaking, twisting pipelines emerged, there was a young-looking and fairly attractive young woman, certainly not like anyone Touka had been expecting to see; she almost reminded the boy of the beautiful Railgun.

Her hair was a hue of light brown, almost as light as the Railgun's own smooth, silky-looking hair. Clad in plated metallic body armor covering both her upper and lower body, similar in design and construction to the body armor worn by the incompetent troopers below, the young woman's feet were protected by a pair of thick, powerful-looking combat boots that were obviously far too large for her. Between the index finger and thumb of her right hand, a small, but quite long and white-colored existence was held. It stunk to the high heavens, whatever it was.

The boy beat back the urge to cover his nose with one, or perhaps both of his hands; the urge became even greater when the young woman before him raised the queer existence to her lips and seemingly inhaled it. She held her breath momentarily before she released a great mass of opaque smoke from within her mouth.

Rather than attempting to throw a false sense of edge around, Touka stuffed either of his hands into his pockets and approached the young woman before him. Plan B would be engaged.

"What's a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this? And alone, no less? Crying shame."

"Your game is super weak. I've seen better from boys with beards, wearing fedoras and blabbering about atheism; it's super cute though. If I super clean you up, want to help a girl get her rocks off?"

Touka shrugged either of his shoulders as he continued to approach, his original goal temporarily forgotten. A combination of testosterone and other toxic chemicals were expelled on the order of his subconscious animal mind, wracking his preteen form with the out of place, but nonetheless overwhelming desire to procreate.

"Want to know what isn't "super weak?"

"If you say "this dick", so help me… I'll super kick you right in your nuts. Your handsomeness can only super get you so far. Also, you super might want to wash your face. Looks like you went down on a vampire."

That snapped the boy out of hormone-induced trance. He'd found himself only some three or four feet away from the young woman, who'd raised the queer, white-colored existence to her lips once again. Sucking in, she lowered it back to her side, and, after a few moments of holding her breath she loosed another plume of smoke, this time directly into the face of the boy standing before her. Despite himself, he awkwardly stumbled back, his lungs resorting to engaging in a cough reflex to force the toxic smog from within him; the young woman giggled wildly at the sight.

"You super have virgin lungs! That's so cuuuuute!"

Soon, Kamitou Touka had managed to catch his breath, and the young woman before him had settled down, her giggling having come to a close.

"What the… what is that shit? It stinks like a serial killer's basement… such bad luck. Catch this; according to the Railgun the big, ugly, kind of stupid and very paranoid robot I'm looking for is hanging out here. Is that true? If you don't have the information I need, I think you might have to get someone who does. Also, about your offer… I ain't got a phone on me, but a name will do. I don't forget a beautiful face."

"The… Railgun? She's super not your sugarmama or something, right? That'd just be weird. Kinuhata Saiai. Super don't get all corny with me, I hate that. I want to fuck, not super cuddle by a fireplace and talk about marriage. Besides, information is a very valuable commodity; it isn't super free, not even for you, handsome."

Kamitou Touka breathed a sigh of aggravation. There was very little to be done, then.

Stepping away from the young woman's form, the boy backtracked towards the metallic dome, which he then proceeded to leap into with reckless abandon. Though the young woman had raised an eyebrow, she hadn't tried to stop him; she hadn't even moved from her place against the metallic box.

Taking another drag of the contraband substance she'd obtained in a less than wholesome fashion, Kinuhata Saiai merely shook her head and continued to observe the cityscape that stretched out before her, like a painting of brutalist architecture.

It was his ability that'd saved his life. Kamitou Touka floated safely and cautiously downwards, making his way throughout a heavily-rusted and partially-damaged passageway. It was enormous, like a well from which a giant might've drawn water in some fantasy world.

Great, dangling wires and even greater beams of a metallic substance unknown to Kamitou Touka danced and snaked along the interior walling, while great, welded-on plates of an equally unknown metallic substance held the walling in place, attaching each great sheet to the other. It was a hideous patchwork monstrosity, completely out of place and looking nothing like the exterior of the structure, which was simpler and nature, more in like with other structures found dotting Academy City's landscapes.

While the passageway's interior was nothing to smile at, the stench was worse, threatening to bring acid retching forth from Touka's empty stomach. Like a cross between an aging cadaver, an assortment of rotting fruits and a sex offender's motel room, the smell ravaged the boy's nostrils and forced liquid repulsion to drip from the corners of his eyes.

Finally, there was a reprieve from the disgusting tunnel from Hell; at the very least, such a stench was what Kamitou Touka imagined Hell to smell like.

The passageway dipped, curling at a point and continuing, straightened, before it lead out into a darkened and fairly open space. A part of the boy had expected overhead lights to immediately illuminate the area around him once he stepped into it, but no such illumination came to his rescue. The only source of light was from the moon above, whose pale beams trespassed through gargantuan, reinforced windows, which looked to have been fairly ornate at one point in time or another. Age had taken its toll on the portals to the outside world, however, and no such beauty remained untarnished.

Clicking his tongue, Kamitou Touka found himself awkwardly stumbling forward, his attempt at walking failing as he nearly tripped over his own feet. He'd found himself in something that must have been a cafeteria at some point or another. While he couldn't remember visiting this space in particular, Touka discerned the color and styling of the furniture within the enclosed space to be identical to the apparent "furniture code" set within the Reformatory. Covered in dust, there were so many circular tables, bolted to the concrete flooring, with simplistic plastic stools bolted around them. Colored a shade of soft pink, these pieces of furniture were all that remained within the enclosed space.

As his footfalls rang out, causing literal winged, beaked rats – obviously the result of some unethical gene splicing experiment gone awry – to flutter about within the metallic rafters of the enclosed space, Kamitou Touka kept his attention on his surroundings at all times. Even once he'd reached the large, reinforced doors which must've lead elsewhere, Touka continuously looked over his shoulders, and kept on his toes, waiting for a single offbeat sound to ring out around him.

The rightmost door was pushed, and then pulled, but it didn't budge. It resisted Touka's attempts at progressing beyond the derelict cafeteria; the winged, beaked rats above sounded as if they laughed at him and mocked his failing attempts. The boy gritted his teeth. His left hand was extended outwards, and arcs of an anomalous energy danced across it, and across his brow.

The boy's Personal Reality kicked into gear while his AIM Field crackled. With a mighty burst of kinetic force generated from within his mind, both reinforced doors were forced from their hinges like weak pieces of cardboard tossed about by a typhoon's lashing winds. As the boy stepped out into a mouldering and dank, but otherwise uninhabited corridor, he tightened his left hand's grip.

The ceiling above and some ten feet away from him became the designated target of Kamitou Touka's frustrated tantrum. His ability wreaked havoc upon the material used to construct the ceiling. It was shaken and violently pushed from side to side, up and down by constant, unforgiving waves of kinetic force. As Touka rose from the ground, his legs and feet dangling limply below him, both the ceiling and the walls of the corridor behind him were ravaged and wracked by his power. Internal (and evidently non-functioning) anti-AIM Field generators were disturbed, their power sources beyond them remaining unharmed while the machines within the walls and ceilings were rattled and damaged.

Much beyond Touka collapsed inwardly, smoke rising from the fresh rubble. Metal was shrieking aloud, as if the inanimate building materials which had once made up the corridor were sentient beings.

The bloodied, malnourished boy would tear the place apart in his quest for the truth of the matter, if push came to shove. If the sentient machine that'd raised him was within the ruin's vicinity, Kamitou Touka would find it. There was simply too much on the line to give up.


	40. A Certain Freedom I

Bzzztttttttt.

Colossal, mechanical limbs moved to and fro. Mounted within an enormous metallic frame which acted as something of a makeshift 'body' for these limbs, each grumbled and groaned as they worked. Exposed hydraulics pumped forward and backward, while plumes of steam emerged from ventilation systems.

Below that metallic frame was something of 'bed'; it was, in fact, intended to serve as a workstation for shaping molten, pre-cut Supirium, the most durable substance on Earth. A broken, battered body, the body of a mechanical monstrosity, its features silent and lightless, laid upon that 'bed', as it were.

Each mechanical limb labouring above it worked to mend that broken, battered body. Clamp-like digits bent beams back into place, and smaller, more delicate tube-like structures ejected masses of swarming, nigh-microscopic nanorobotic drones, which melded into, and thereby restored smaller sections of the damaged machine's form, as well as those delicate inner-workings which would have otherwise been completely unreachable.

Placed upon a nearby table – a wretched thing which was covered in spiders' webs, laden with dust and plastered with golden-brown rust – were cut plates of solid Supirium, grey like the colour of rolling clouds heralding a thunderstorm's arrival. Each had been cut from a pre-existing block of the invulnerable substance, and shaped in such a way as to fit over a certain part of the unthinking, off-line machine's recovering body.

Finally, as if to place the 'finishing touches' on their work, the non-sentient mechanical limbs adjusted the wiring snaking from within the protruding boxes affixed to the machine's wrists, those which were responsible for the production of destructive particle beams.

Then, steaming further, as each continued to hiss aloud with the effort required to overcome some months of disuse, other mechanical limbs worked themselves into a frenzy; each grabbed a Supirium plate, affixed them to those points which they'd been cut to the specification of, and, through the use of a massive, industrial-strength welding torch – which, in fact, was the singular, terminating digit of one affixed mechanical limb – each plate was welded into their places.

Nearly forty-five minutes passed, but, at long last, the repairs were complete.

No longer did 'the D-001 unit" have an exposed, broken-down, rusted endoskeleton. There wasn't even an endoskeleton exposed any longer; the machine had been layered in heavy, grey-coloured plates of Supirium.

Devastator's eyes flickered to life.

Ornamental lines exposed by specially-cut sections of Supirium alloy plates – so thin that they seemed transparent, yet still provided more protection than even several dozen sheets worth of bulletproof glass – began to glow in tandem with the machine's eyes.

Bright, glaring cyan broke through the darkness of Academy City's run-down, partially-collapsing Reformatory. The lights exposed seas of floating dust which lingered in the air; insectoid vermin began to flutter about, chasing the sudden, stimulating presence of unusual brightness.

Rising to its full, imposing height, it turned itself, placed its two-toed feet upon the cracked, concrete floor of the crumbling Reformatory, and swivelled the repaired, fully functional neck mounted within its shoulders.

No more noise. No more whirring. No more crackling. Gone as well was the near-ubiquitous whining of unmaintained mechanical apparatuses deep within its body.

"Good as new, baby. Good as new. I feel like I could take on the world."

Devastator looked upward.

"Maybe it'll come to that. Who knows?"

With the jet engines mounted within its upper back repaired, the machine could utilize those, in addition to the repaired, fully-functioning jet engines mounted within its forearms, and those mounted within its thighs. Each, having been adjusted and tinkered with to the point of perfection by doting, affectionate little nanorobotic structures, functioned exactly as the mechanical monstrosity remembered they had.

Without effort, it repulsed from the flooring, surged through the ceiling – suffering no physical damage as a result – and soared into the skies above.

"Look, ma! No hands!" The machine cried aloud, scanning the environment below it. "If only my mother didn't hate me. What a world that would be! What. A. World."

'SEARCH MODE' was quickly initialized; a much swifter, much simpler means of gaining information from on high. Much more efficient, to boot.

The majority of those within Academy City's ruined, lawless hellhole of a tenth school district were biological, carbon-based life forms. Human beings, scuttling, scavenging vermin such as rodents and nocturnal birds, and…

'SEARCH MODE' was quickly enveloped within a blinking, bright red warning light, which bounced from corner to corner of the machine's vision. Its repaired, functional eyelids narrowed.

"You're not human. You, in that black SUV… What a choice of vehicle. Really? The soccer mom mobile? Going to scream at the manager and demand for a refund, are you…?"

It nodded to itself.

"There's nothing left to do, baby blue. It's time for answers."

Another one fell, and another one.

Truth be told, Aihana Etsu didn't particularly enjoy this sort of massacre; not only was it too simple, but, ultimately, these were men employed to do a job and nothing more. Did they really even know what they were doing? Were they even aware that 'the Motherlode' was the number one hotbed for GROWTH-related criminal activity in Academy City's vast, unquantifiable underworld?

Etsu hoped they were.

A tendril surged, and split another one's throat open. His eyelids retracted, exposed the flowing, unsightly eyeless orbs within their sockets, and promptly created two streams of superheated, purple-white energy which tore through yet another, severing his entire body in half.

A hailstorm of bullets was deflected by the invisible shield of the cosmic matter his body passively produced at all times. It flashed, briefly, only when struck.

"This isn't solving my problem, is it? This 'Motherlode' has to go. That's that, no two ways about it. If I want this to be over, if I want to get home and hear more of Seiri's nagging – my favourite pastime – there's only one way to do it…"

Somewhere, a switch was flipped.

The piercing, shrieking cacophony which assaulted Aihana Etsu's ears was heralded by a total shutdown of every single source of light in the vicinity. Though he was protected from immediate suspicion, thanks to the gear he'd snatched from one of his many, many victims, Aihana Etsu wasn't about to drop his guard.

Especially now, with his ears ringing, and the beginnings of a headache forming. That horrid, piercing sound was enough to drive him up the wall. What was it? Why was it so violently, repulsively loud? It was one of the most painful sounds he'd ever heard.

There was a massive explosion, then; and the darkness was broken by the presence of natural light.

Evidently, Misaka Mikoto hadn't decided to 'hit him back' at all; she'd simply brought the cavalry. All of it.

The firefight began. Armoured subordinates swarmed in all directions, opening fire. They cared not about who, or what, had breached their workplace; all they knew is what they'd been told. Kill any intruders on sight. No survivors. No prisoners. No witnesses.

Colossal, metallic doors which lead into the first level of 'the Motherlode' had been ripped from their hinges, and, inward, stomped a monstrous, tall thing. It was pure white, resembling a powered suit. Its arms terminated in enormous, mounted firearms, both of which were firing repeated bursts of bullets. Dozens of armoured, patrolling personnel within 'the Motherlode' dropped like flies beneath it.

Another armoured subordinate dropped; he was shot directly in the head. A small burst of bullets had shattered his helmet's visors, and, from his shredded eyes, bursts of lifeblood emerged.

The Accelerator had stormed the facility, remaining behind cover provided by the rampaging, pure white powered suit. Firing what looked like some sort of pure white combat rifle, he dropped another, and another.

The facility's roof was then torn apart. It was simply removed with such force that the entire area quaked. The filth-encrusted floors – and the catwalk upon which Aihana Etsu still stood – began to shudder with such force that Academy City's sixth-strongest level five thought he might fall to his death.

"You think your noise-machines can stop ME?! You all lack GUTS! Let me show you!"

Surging downward from on high, Sogiita Gunha rushed like a living blur.

"SUPER! AMAZING! ULTRA! GODLIKE! MULTIVERSAL PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNCH!"

There was nothing left. The entire facility collapsed; and, with it, whatever source had been causing that horrid, shrieking noise fell, as well; to that end, Aihana Etsu was able to finally remove himself from the warpath of crumbling rubble, by leaping with a forceful burst of cosmic matter in another direction.

The catwalk upon which he'd stood was soon brought low. It was split in half by tumbling rubble. Its metallic supports screamed in protest, but ultimately gave way.

Sogiita Gunha's punch caused all of Asia to shake beneath its might; and whatever GROWTH had been stored within the facility exploded into a supermassive fireball. Blackened plumes of smoke emerged from the wreckage…

… All of which was simply reflected in another direction by Academy City's number one strongest esper. Clicking his tongue in irritation, Accelerator forced the massive plumes into the skies, and, 'collecting' the raging, exploding fireball between the palms of his hands, reduced it to nothing.

"Tsch. Fucking seventh-ranked. If I hadn't been here, you'd all be dead. I should kick his fucking ass into space for pulling a stunt like this."

One enormous, pure white armoured suit soon came to rest, accompanied by another, which stood by it; from behind each a large hatch came to protrude, and those suits' operators removed themselves from their cramped quarters within.

It was only then that Accelerator noticed the collapsing rubble had, suddenly, stopped collapsing; instead, the majority of it – that which consisted of metallic, magnetizable materials – was pulled slowly, gently, towards the sundered ground.

"… Phew. Thanks for the save, Accelerator. Glad I was able to catch this debris before it could go flying everywhere."

Electricity crackled around Academy City's third-ranked level five esper. It ceased, once she'd placed the rubble she'd collected down safely. Producing a sigh of exasperation, the Railgun bent forward, rested her hands' palms upon her knees, and took a long, deep breath.

Having emerged from within an armoured suit, Kamijou Touma quickly found his way to his wife, who, too, had disembarked from her own armoured suit, and took her hands into his own.

"They started firing on me. Didn't have a choice… Tried to go for non-vital point, but… Couldn't work the suit well… I…"

Kamijou Misaki's arms were soon around her husband's shoulders, and she quietly kissed his cheek. It was all that could be done. There was nothing to say, and, moreover, this wasn't the place to say it.

He was pale. His eyes' lids had widened, and, upon running her fingers across her husband's forehead, found his brow to be cold, and plastered with sweat.

"M-Misaki…"

"Shhhh. I know, husband. I know. This day extracts a heavy toll."

Finally coming to rest nearby, Aihana Etsu swiftly removed, and then threw away the helmet he'd pilfered; unfortunately for him, he was still clad in his equally pilfered, heavy clothing.

"K-Kami-yan? Are you good, man?"

"Does he fucking look good?"

Accelerator snarled under his breath as he approached the man who'd saved not only his own life, but the lives of nearly ten thousand others. Academy City's strongest placed either of his spindly, weak hands upon Touma's shoulders, and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

There was no response. For all intents and purposes, Kamijou Touma had temporarily left the premises; his mind was somewhere else, contemplating deeper things.

He'd just killed people. For 'self-defense' or not, he'd killed them. He'd murdered them. He'd snuffed their lives out. He'd removed them from this planet, forever, and they were never coming back. Whether they were involved in some sort of illegal drug trade or not, it simply didn't matter.

They were gone.

He was…

"I'm a murderous piece of trash."

"No, husband."

Beginning to walk – taking Touma's hands into her own and leading him forward, others following her lead – Kamijou Misaki interlocked her fingers with Kamijou Touma's own, and looked to him. Her golden, starry eyes met with her husband's dark, dilated ones.

And, inwardly, she sobbed.

"You are not 'trash'. You are the furthest thing from 'trash'. You are such a wonderful person. You are good. You are a good person. You always have been, and you always will be! I love you so very much, my Touma, my prince. I will always be here with you. You will not face this alone."

Piloting the abandoned armoured suits of Dark Matter, Sogiita Gunha and Aihana Etsu fuddled about with the controls.

"Not much sense in staying around this dump," Etsu remarked, attempting to lighten the mood by creating a distraction of some kind, any kind. "Sogiita-chan and my hunk of a self will return to base and report a mission success. Ciao!"

"Don't lose your GUTS, Kamijou-san!" Sogiita called out, before both suits rocketed into the air, then dispersed.

Mikoto, clenching her fists, quickly rushed to her friend's side.

"They're both such idiots. Can they not read the room? Now's not the time for jokes."

"Forget about those fucking morons, third-ranked. Focus on getting the hero home. He's in no condition to be anywhere except at home with the fifth-ranked right now."

The monumental loss of life affected Kamijou Touma deeply. Though he returned his wife's perpetually-tightening locking of fingers, thoroughly appreciating her calming presence and unwavering devotion, he was incapable of saying much at all. It took all of his energy to prevent the lump forming in his throat from devolving into a full-blown breakdown.

"I killed them," Touma repeated again, and again, within his mind, like some sort of damaged play-toy with its audio track stuck repeating a looping quasi-message forever. "I killed them."

"WEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The dinky, run-down little park – a shithole for certain – with a tiny, rusted-over climbing structure that barely rose four feet from the ground, a plastic slide covered in chips and vulgar graffiti, and, the overjoyed, squealing toddler's favourite attraction of all, a rusted-over swing set with seats made from some sort of cheap, pitch dark rubber, was not the sort of place Hamazura Shiage wanted his child playing in.

Yet, it was the best that Academy City, in its ruined, half-dead state could provide. The fact that the sand pit in which the swing set rested wasn't covered in used hypodermic needles – this time, at least – was a boon in and of itself.

"Higher!"

"Hey, bruiser, this is as high as these swings will go…"

"Okay, papa."

Pushing his son with a single arm, his attention focused less on his child and more on the environment around him, paternal instincts left Shiage in a constant state of heightened awareness. He could have his arms around his son and be bolting in any given direction at a the drop of a hat.

A 'defective' level zero esper with zero supernatural abilities whatsoever, Hamazura Shiage felt a chill on the air; he briefly regretted not bringing a coat with him. His short-sleeved, black shirt and loose-fitting denim shorts weren't doing him any favours.

His neatly-trimmed, short, well-kept blonde hair was ruffled by that very same breeze.

At least, Hamazura Daichi seemed to be enjoying himself. He smiled so wide that the boy's father thought his son's cheeks might pop. He laughed, and giggled aloud.

"Such a happy boy."

Feeling the palm of his hand pressed against his four-year-old son's back, Shiage pushed him again, causing the boy's swing to surge forward, and then rush backward, and invoking yet another fit of laughter.

"Hey, big guy."

"Papa!"

"Do you know how much papa loves you?"

"Yep!"

"You do?! Tell me!"

"To the moon and back again!"

Shiage chuckled. It was a soft vocalization.

"A bit more than that, I'd wager."

Just as he was about to speak, he heard a telling sound. One which informed him that it was time to take his son and return home.

Though it wasn't originating from anywhere nearby, Hamazura Shiage heard the sounds of gunfire. Gunfire, in Academy City's seventh school district. The gangs were spilling out from their shitholes and into the 'safe districts', then. The last bastions of safety were being overrun. One thing, obviously, would lead to another. It always did.

"Hey, bruiser…" Shiage began. "Want to go to Chicken Hut? Papa will get you some nuggets and a soda."

"YAY! CHICKEN HUUUUUUUUUUUT!"

Shiage wanted to break down and weep, right there, right then. His beautiful, baby son, innocent as innocent could be. A life form uncorrupted by the darkness of reality, and all of the evils that lay beyond the veil.

Stopping the swing, his son's laughter never abating, Shiage lifted the boy up, tossed his son over his shoulders, and bolted. For his part, Hamazura Daichi enjoyed being lifted and moved about.

Buckled into his car seat, and provided with some of his toys to muck about with during the trip home, Shiage swiftly started his SUV's engine with a press of his finger to the fingerprint-sensing input device, forced the vehicle into drive, and departed from the park as quickly as he could.

The sounds of gunfire being exchanged were approaching. He'd made the right decision.

A trip through the Chicken Hut's drive-thru later, Hamazura Shiage finally pulled into the driveway of the single-storey home he shared with his beloved wife, Hamazura Rikou, in Academy City's eighth school district. With a sigh of exasperation, he collected the food and soda he'd purchased for his son, unbuckled the boy from his car seat, and, gently taking that soft, little hand into his own, hurried both himself and Daichi into the home. Closing the door behind him and locking it with some force, he finally permitted himself to breathe.

"Safe… As safe as can be in Academy City."

"Bruiser," Shiage spoke up, "can you be a good boy for papa and go play for a bit while I get everything ready? I'll have to get mama's ready, too. She'll be home from work soon. Can't let the bear get hungry!"

Placing either of his hands up to the sides of his head, Shiage knelt downward, and approached his son, who began to giggle aloud at the sight of his father in such an absurd position.

"Groooaarrr! Mama bear's going to get HUUNNGRRYYYY! And then she'll eat you UP!"

"No way!" Daichi exclaimed, dashing off in another direction, down the entranceway and towards the kitchen, laughing hysterically all the while. "I don't taste good!"

"Where's Fremea…? Ah, right, yeah, at Ueda-san's. She'll be fine."

With his children – biological or otherwise – accounted for, Shiage finally allowed his shoulders to sink, and for relaxation to wash over him.

Bringing the food he'd bought for his son into the home's kitchen, then setting it on the table nearby the sliding glass doors leading out into the home's considerably expansive backyard, Shiage paid some brief attention to the telephone sitting nearby, plugged into the wall, still hung upon its receiver; a digital display upon the receiver showed several calls had been made, but ultimately went unanswered; a single voicemail message had been left.

"Voicemail? That's something. Rikou would've just texted. She knew we were out. Wonder who it is?"

Deciding to check the voicemail for himself, Shiage entered the required verification code, and awaited the answering machine's playback of the message left for him, more likely than not.

"Hamazura-san, greetings. It's your Director and Chairman, Kumokawa Seria."

"Wow. She addressed me with her full name…? Wait, crap! This message must be for Rikou! She's involved with all that, not me. Yikes. Hoping this doesn't come back to nip me in the ass."

"I hope your family is well, all things considered; this is precisely what has inspired me to leave this message in your hands. The Board of Directors, as it stands, and myself have established control over the rogue OFFICER Network. OFFICER units will no longer be patrolling Academy City's borders, and, those stragglers which remain behind have had their shoot-on-sight protocols disengaged.

"I inform you of such, Hamazura-san, because in our last meeting, you made clear that you wished to flee with your family from this City's walls. An understandable desire. Now is the time to make that dream a reality. Go. I won't stop you. Nor will the Board of Directors. This may be your one chance."

He had been seeing less of them, lately; and those that he did see didn't even pay him mind, when, under normal circumstances, the OFFICER Network would request personal identification from him if they so much as crossed his path on the street.

"Could it be…? No way. No fucking way. No… It can't be… It's over? We can get out of here?! Really?! That was HER voice! I know her voice! It came straight from the Director herself! We… We can…"

Stiffening his upper lip, Hamazura Shiage fiddled with the phone in his hands.

"I've got calls to make."

Having lost track of time's passage, Kamijou Touma stared up at the ceiling of the apartment he shared with his doting wife. Resting the back of his head upon her thighs, with her fingers dancing along his scalp and occasionally curling locks of his hair, gently, his vision became brighter, slightly.

"I'm not proud of what I had to do," Touma finally stated, startling Misaki who'd become adjusted to the comfortable silence. "But I realize now that I had to do it. It was us or them; and I like breathing. Especially when I think about this life I have here with you, and our marriage."

"Any normal human being with a healthy mind is appalled by the taking of another's life," Misaki remarked, calmly, gently, her voice little more than a hushed whisper. "What you're feeling, my prince, is that which anyone would feel, in your position."

"I've heard people who served in the Armed Forces… They say it gets easier, the more you do it. I don't know if that's a good thing or not."

Producing a mumble, Touma took his wife's spare hand into his own, pressed it to his lips, then kissed it. He kissed it lovingly, and held it close. A blushing Misaki smiled, her eyelids narrowing.

"I'm sorry that I'm always like this. I'm always using you as a crutch."

"Shhhh. You needn't apologize. Not now, and not ever. Please, don't ever feel afraid. Turn to me whenever you need me. I will always be here! Always! Did I not swear I would always, unconditionally, support you, husband? It's a vow I intend to keep. Not merely because it is a vow I swore, but because it is my duty; a duty I deeply enjoy. Being here for you, my prince, in your time of need is… The most important matter to me."

Leaning downward, Kamijou Misaki kissed her husband's forehead.

"There, there, my prince. Recover and relax. I will always be here by your side, always. I love you, Kamijou Touma. I love you more than I could ever hope to explain. My love for you is constant and infinite. You are my everything. My world, my universe."

Kamijou Misaki's soul surged with purpose, with unparalleled, unconditional, unwavering love for this man.

As comfortable silence descended once again, Misaki's smartphone rang. Placed upon the couch's arm nearby, she left her husband's hair alone, for a moment, and answered the device after checking to see who, exactly, was calling.

"Hello, Shiage! It's so nice to hear from you!"

Touma perked up.

"S-Shiage's on the phone? Is everything good?"

Rather than replying verbally, Kamijou Misaki merely enabled the device's speakerphone function.

"Feeling's mutual, Misaki; AYY! Is that Touma I hear?! Hey, boss!"

"Shiage! Man, it's been way too long!"

Rising, resting his head between his wife's shoulder and her neck – accepting, and loving, the subsequent, gentle petting that followed, accompanied by Misaki's wide, loving smile and crimson blush – Touma paid attention as closely as his murky, traumatized mind would permit.

"Boss! It has been! Got some good news. Great news, even. The OFFICER Network has been called off, and people are able to get through the walls, into Japan! I've been calling as many people as I can – Mikoto, Accelerator, tried to reach Mugino again, got nothing… But I did get you two!"

Touma's heart had leapt into his throat. He was almost ready to choke on it, such was the sudden pressure building up within him, lighting fire to his innards.

"Y-Y… Y-You're serious?"

"Hell— er, HECK yeah, I'm serious, boss! We need to get the fu— I mean, uh, HECK out of here! Now! Already called Rikou at work, she's on her way, ready to go."

Looking to Misaki, Touma's widening eyes, and his dilated pupils stared into his wife's own large, golden, starry orbs.

"M-M… Misaki… Beautiful… If it's true, then… Then we can…"

Tears fled freely down the cheeks of the fifth-ranked level five esper, Kamijou Misaki. Her smile was so wide that it nearly extended from one ear to the other. Her face, as red as a beet, contorted slightly as she began to sniffle. She cast her arms around her husband's shoulders, pulled him close, and lost herself.

"Touma! My husband… My perfect, loving… Affectionate… Gentle husband… My everything… We may just be free… We might finally be free of this horrible place… My love… My dearest, most precious love of my life…"


	41. BtS: A Certain Doom

Kumokawa Seria bit into her lower lip. Frustrated, desperate, and not intending to be the woman who sent countless innocents to their deaths at the hands of a rogue artificial intelligence, Academy City's Director struggled against the thrashing, artificial thing that lived deep within the interconnected non-consciousnesses of the OFFICER Network's innumerable drone units.

"Ma'am, if I may make a suggestion…"

"Go on, Tsugutoshi," Seria snapped, a bit more harshly than she'd intended to; her every command entered into the Network terminal's built-in keypad was forcibly rejected. They were all valid commands which should have done something, anything. "I'm open to suggestions of any sorts."

"Have you considered, ma'am, that there may be a traitor amongst our ranks?"

Seria simply grinned.

"I have. You, of course, aren't a suspect, my oldest and dearest friend. I have considered this possibility. How, otherwise, would the Network be hijacked so often?"

Kaizumi Tsugutoshi, aged and eldered, walked as quickly as he could manage to the other side of the terminal. He looked down at the flashing screens which allowed the Director – and anyone else who looked closely enough, with the right knowledge – some level of understanding regarding the internal goings-on of the OFFICER Network, Academy City's fully autonomous, AI-controlled military police.

"Tsugutoshi, could you be a dear and take the reins for a moment?"

"Of course, ma'am."

Briefly departing from the section of the ruinous facility which, for better or for worse, acted as the Director of Academy City's headquarters, Seria stopped by her personal office, and, with a key she kept entrapped between the cleavage of her ample bosom – perhaps unprofessional, but always secure as secure could be – unlocked a certain drawer near the bottom of her desk.

This drawer, larger than the others, contained that which Kumokawa Seria mentally acknowledged to be her 'emergency kit'; taking out each necessary piece of equipment, she laid them out upon her desk's surface, and accounted for each.

A small, handheld lie detector machine. A clip, large enough to encompass a person's index finger, was attached to the small device with a strand of wire; a built-in display mounted within the device would digitally serve to trace the subject's heartbeat.

A concealable handgun, small enough to fit snuggly within the palm of her hand. Its chamber was fully stocked, its barrel loaded; the safety would merely need to be disengaged for the firearm to be capable of discharging ammunition.

Pocketing both, placing them comfortably inside of her suit jacket's pockets, Seria returned to rejoin Kaizumi Tsugutoshi.

The old man wasn't having a fun time of it, either; he desperately typed in commands, clicked the 'enter' key, waited… And threw his head back in frustration as his efforts to wrestle control of the OFFICER Network firmly into Academy City hands failed once again.

"I'll relieve you. Thank you, Tsugutoshi."

Seria removed both items from her suit jacket's pocket, and offered her hands, extended outwards, to the eldered man who'd turned to face her, just about to offer his thanks and acknowledge his direct superior's return.

"… So, it's going to come down to this, is it, ma'am? A shame."

For a moment's time, Tsugutoshi looked down at his Director's hands; in one, a portable lie detector device. In the other, a firearm. It didn't take a genius to discern that which his Director sought of him.

He inhaled, deeply. Held his breath for four seconds, then exhaled for another four. His wrinkled brow furrowed, and, for a moment, Kumokawa Seria caught a glimpse of just how weak Kaizumi Tsugutoshi was.

"I'm sorry, Madam Director. I can't accept that order from you."

"Fine. I'll do it myself."

"… I'll… Return to my duties here, then. Rest assured, all I can do to keep the OFFICER Network from being overtaken once again will be done, Madam Director."

Seria merely nodded politely, then took her leave.

Returning to her office, then departing through the office's entranceway doors, flanked by her ever-vigilant, unrelenting protectors, the nameless, faceless men and women bound within their metallic coffins, their HsPS-15 Powered Suits. Each held a Gatling gun aloft, and bowed, slightly, as Seria passed them by.

The darkened workspace beyond her office was lit only by periodically flashing beams of blue light, originating from workstation monitors. Those drones in their cubicles mindlessly typed away. Some clicked upon the plastic buttons of their computer mice.

Beginning in no particular order, Kumokawa Seria made her presence known wordlessly; the clacking of her heels against the tiled flooring was more than enough to gain the attention of all those who toiled for her, and for her Academy City.

The first, a slightly overweight, seemingly neck-less cretin hunched in a corner. His metallic swivelling chair barely able to support his large frame.

Whatever he might've looked like, he was obviously fit for the position he held. Seria knew that; otherwise, he wouldn't have held it. She interviewed all of her little drones herself, and approved each of them on her own accord, no third parties.

"You, face me. Now."

He jumped in his seat; his thick-rimmed glasses nearly slid down his nose.

"M-MADAM DIRECTOR?! I… I…"

"Please be quiet."

Grabbing the pudgy fellow's wrist, Seria fit his index finger with the tight-fitting plastic clamp of her portable lie detector device. Clicking the device into action with a simple button press, Academy City's Director stared down upon him, past his grease-covered glasses, directly into his widened brown eyes.

"Do you know anything about the repeated attempts at wresting control of the OFFICER Network from us?"

"R-Repeated attempts at… N-No, Madam Director, I don't! I would never betray you! I swear it! Whoever dares to defy you, I hope they're swiftly brought to justice!"

"You're sure?"

"I-I'm certain, Madam Director!"

"Absolutely? If you come clean, now, I won't have you flayed alive and tossed directly into the dustbin."

"N-No, Madam Director! I would never betray you! I SWEAR IT!"

The lie detector proved him innocent; with a near-one hundred percent success rate, with so little room for failure that Seria was more likely to die via an asteroid impact than receive an incorrect analysis, she ceased her interrogation, retrieved the lie detector device's plastic clamp, and moved onto the next.

This process continued, for each of the few dozen employees who worked within the darkened halls formed by stuffy, cramped cubicles.

Finally, Kumokawa Seria reached the only office drone who hadn't been accounted for; she laboured wordlessly in the back corner. She seemed particularly busy with whatever duties she was performing; her long, messy hair hung loose in her face. Her professional attire looked wrinkled, as if she'd collected something haphazardly from a laundry basket, thrown it on, and come into work, unconcerned by the necessity for professionalism and cleanliness in the workplace.

"You. Face me, now."

"EEK!"

She leapt, nearly; her quick-typing fingers ceased their incessant prattling; the woman hyperventilated, nearly. She could barely catch her breath.

"Not expecting company? Assumed no one was watching, perhaps?"

A single bead of sweat trickled down the woman's brow.

Without saying another word, Seria forcefully shoved the woman's index finger into her device's trusty, loyal plastic clamp. She resisted, attempting to tug herself away; but Seria wouldn't allow it. Squeezing down upon the woman's wrist, the Director's unblinking gaze met her drone's own.

It was a dark thing. Kumokawa Seria stared not at her, but through her. Seria pierced every veil that this woman had hung in an attempt to obscure whatever intentions she held.

Without being subjected to any supernatural powers – originating from an esper ability or otherwise – the woman found herself completely and utterly under control; obedient, unquestioning, and defeated.

"Damn it, girl. You're just making this harder."

With an unladylike grunt, Seria stated firmly, simply…

"Do you know anything about the repeated attempts at wresting control of the OFFICER Network from us?"

The device's readings spiked. A sudden leap in the zigzagging lines which rose from the bottom of the device's small screen to its top continued, repeatedly; it wasn't a glitch. It didn't represent the characteristic, pulsating rising and falling of a heartbeat temporarily heightened by anxiety, something not indicative of guilt, per se.

There was no answer.

Kumokawa Seria reached into her suit jacket's pocket, and, without having to so much as look away from the woman she held under interrogation, wrapped her own index finger around her concealed firearm's trigger. With that hand's thumb, she disabled the firearm's safety mechanism.

She never blinked. She never faltered.

"… The Kihara Family is the future of Academy City. Of the world. Espers—"

Without hesitation, Kumokawa Seria swiftly drew her firearm, took aim, and shot that office drone directly between her eyes.

Her body was wracked by quickening spasms. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, while gushing lifeblood was suddenly ejected in bursts from the wound inflicted by the bullet which travelled between the woman's eyes, and exited through the back of her head; gray matter and pulsing, squirming, blood-soaked brain tissue hit the wall of the cubicle. The woman's body slumped forward, then, hit the floor.

The single gunshot had caught the attention of those office drones who hadn't been found guilty.

"Sit down!" Seria roared, "All of you! Immediately, back to work! No disruptions!"

None dared to defy the decree of their Madam Director, who stomped back into her office; the janitor would be left with that mess to clean up. If he didn't want to, someone else would. Kumokawa Seria couldn't have been bothered to dirty her hands with such lowly work.

When she returned to the section of the facility which housed the OFFICER Network's terminal, a tired-looking Kaizumi Tsugutoshi looked to his Director, and shook his head from one side and then to the other.

"Judging by what I'd just heard, I suppose you found your traitor."

"Yes."

"Do you have any regrets, ma'am?"

"No."

"A price well-paid for the peace of every citizen in Academy City… Citizens who I hope will soon flee this place. Hamazura Rikou, please do get my message to the Kamijous. Join them. Run. Never look back…"

Clearing her throat, attempting to remove the sudden lump that had formed in it, Kumokawa Seria remarked sternly, "how fares the Network now, Tsugutoshi?"

"Smooth sailing," the eldered man came back in response, "I do suppose we should have figured this from the start."

"You didn't, Tsugutoshi?"

"You did, ma'am?"

"Of course. I hadn't worked up the nerve to finish that grim business until now."

Resting her hands' palms upon the OFFICER Network's terminal, Seria spoke, quietly, almost meekly.

"When everything ends, Kaizumi Tsugutoshi, where do you think you'll find yourself?"

He needed no time to deliberate. He needed not a moment to even think of his answer.

"With you, ma'am, If you'd have me. I must admit, I've become quite attached to you, Madam Director. I've come to enjoy working for you, as you once worked under me, in a time so distant. It gives this old husk of a man a purpose."

"I… Am attached to you, as well, Tsugutoshi. I'm glad you intend to see this through to its conclusion with me."


End file.
